


Moiraphage

by MockerDelight



Series: Nonsense Stories [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15003179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MockerDelight/pseuds/MockerDelight
Summary: A girl tries to stick to the script and keep out of supernatural shenanigans.She fails.Spectacularly.





	1. Strawberry Blues

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having so much fun, fite me. This is kind of serious but also crack? idk man i'm just gonna fly loose with it and see where it takes me.

She lived next door.

It wasn’t part of an overlying plan, or some clever scheme to insert herself into the plot. Believe her, she'd have rather been in Cuba, hanging out on the beach and happily going around half-clothed. Because—honestly, Japan made her heart shrivel with it's modesty. But the house near the clinic was affordable and their agent offered it to them at a price that was practically mouthwatering.

That’s how her parents explained it when she asked, at least. Her mother had looked a little shifty though and muttered something about 'politics' and 'manhunts'. Her father had looked like the picture of innocence, further proving that the story was a cover.

She was around two when her parents moved in and barely interacted with the neighbors' kids when they were presented. It was a chore for her parents to get their only child outside at that point, let alone get her to _socialize._   They'd loved bragging about their little genius while playing victim about her lack of peer interaction. They never mentioned that they used their own child's stubbornness as a shield to avoid most of the neighborhood themselves. It was something she liked to bring up frequently, much to their dismay.

As a toddler her habits were worrying, but endearing. At fifteen it left her parents biting their nails and fearing that their daughter would be alone for the _rest of her life._ Part of her wanted to explain to them that the teenagers that matched her physical age were as much her peers as toddlers. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to navigate the nightmare that was adolescent hormones and teenage interaction _twice._ She barely survived the first time.

Waiting until she hit college age seemed like the best idea when it came to making friends. Seeking out people physically older than her for companionship had a tendency to turn sour when they found out her age, or worse—creepy. Learning to hack into internet perverts profiles to remotely ruin their lives was a plus, though. It was a great father-daughter bonding activity.

She probably should have just come clean to them; she really should have, because then she wouldn’t be tramping after the mulish form of one Ichigo Kurosaki as he showed her around Karakura High. Explaining that she was the reincarnated soul of a 25 year old American would have been more enjoyable than this.

The excuse the homeroom teacher had given was that Ichigo knew her already so he’d have an easier time showing shy, home-schooled Natsuki Maki around campus.

That was bullshit.

They barely waved at each other in passing on the rare occasion they saw each other in the neighborhood. Natsu was pretty sure that Ichigo hadn’t even _known her name_ before the teacher had told it to him. That was fine with her; honestly, she'd spent the majority of her existence trying to stay off the kid’s radar the moment she had realized the connotations of a little orange haired boy named Ichigo with twin little sisters that lived in a place called _Kurosaki Clinic._

Yeah, she had turned her happy ass the other direction the _moment_ she had that revelation. Some would call her selfish for leaving things to pan out so cruelly with his mother’s death and all. But Natsu had died once already, had never been a fighter, and _couldn’t see ghosts._

It was poignant irony.

Girl died and got reincarnated into a universe with ghosts and ghouls abound. Only she couldn’t see them, let alone fight the things.

Considering Ichigo’s contagious super powers the moment he turned into a shinigami she wanted to be as far from his mess as she could manage. Violence had never been her cup of tea and she planned to keep it that way.

Her Mom had thrown a socket wrench in that plan and then upended the entire toolbox into her delicate machinations for good measure.

_‘We’re so worried about you’_

_‘We only want what’s best for you’_

Then the full-on Motherly Pout. Natsu always caved to the Motherly Pout. The fact that she was already halfway through college didn’t deter her parents at all. They cited that part of school was learning about people her age as much as it was about taking in actual knowledge. Then they shoved her out the door after extracting a promise from her not to skip class. She never backed down from a promise to her parents.

They knew her too well.

So, here she was, glaring holes in the back of Ichigo’s messy hair—it made her fingers itch just looking at it—as he pointed out the cafeteria and the gym.

Feeling her burning gaze, he whipped around and she smoothed her expression into something neutral, which on her features made her look like a shrinking violet with barely any effort. As much as it drove her up the wall, there _was_ an advantage to her chubby cheeks and doe-like eyes.

His ever-present bitch-face took on a slightly suspicious edge, but he didn’t try to call her out. They spent the next few awkward minutes discussing school clubs. Most of which Ichigo had no idea about as he placed himself quite adamantly in the Going Home Club. Natsu couldn't blame him, she had never felt the urge to stay after school for _more_ school—ever. People who joined more than one club terrified her on a visceral level.

The lunch bell rang with an ear-piercing rattle and her stomach grumbled in a Pavlovian response built from 13 years of U.S public school. One lifetime removed and it still found ways to ruin her day. Ichigo looked relieved to be released from his duties.

“That’s the tour,” he grunted and turned to walk away.

He paused after a step, thinking twice, and turned around.

“You can join us for lunch, if you want,” he offered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Natsu bit down on her reflex to scream ‘Nope!’ and run for the hills. She was too busy staring at the ground earlier to really check out her class, so she really didn’t know how far along they were, story-wise. Sure she had seen the fact that the side of the Kurosaki clinic was completely caved in last week, so Ichigo was a shinigami at least. But she didn’t really have the whole timeline pinned perfectly in her head. So checking to see if Rukia was still around would be the only sure way to set her measuring stick.

When Orihime disappeared, Natsu was planning on using her one and only Parent Pass to demand a two-week vacation to the Dominican. It would be a perfect break for when the chill of winter invaded the town. She had earned it fair and square when she discovered and broke into her parents safe; she _knew_ it would come in handy one day. Really, unlicensed guns were deeply illegal, but understandable. The stacks of military grade C-4 and the cool couple hundred thousand in multiple currencies was a little more worrisome.

“Sure,” she said, softly.

Ichigo offered a slight grin; it could barely be called a smile. He waved a lazy hand for her to follow as he turned, leading her up to the school roof. Contrary to most Japanese schools she had been to, the access wasn’t locked and there was even a note next to the door reminding students not to leave trash.

It was a wonderful day out, the sun was shining and the weather was warm without feeling like it was going to bake her through her uniform. She glared at the clear, blue sky.

It was mocking her, she knew it. This could be the meeting that would literally lead to her demise and the weather was the best it'd been in days. But the sky didn't obligingly turn dark and stormy, so she followed Ichigo at an even pace.

There, sitting on a blanket with the rest of Ichigo’s posse, was Rukia. She was laughing at something Orihime said, but there was a nervous edge to it, like she didn’t quite know what she was supposed to be laughing at. It was bone chilling to recognize her, translated from a 2-D medium to full color. She'd seen Ichigo in passing and rarely paid attention to him other than to avoid him. Even now she found it hard to look him in the face and just seeing his hair made her entire back lock up into one singular brick wall of stress.

The dark hair and big eyes lent Rukia an adorable look even as her small frame made her seem as non-threatening as she could be. She was extremely pretty, almost unnaturally so. Not a blemish to be seen; yet it didn’t look like she had a speck of make-up on her.

Only the fact that Natsu _knew_ she was a shinigami kept her from falling head first for the woman’s innocent, sheltered act.

“Ah, Ichigo!” A girl with short spiky hair called, most likely Tatsuki, “Is that the transfer?”

Natsu stepped forward from where she had hidden behind Ichigo to bow slightly.

“Natsuki Maki,” she murmured, “Pleased to meet you.”

There was a general uproar as the group introduced themselves, friendly to the bone. Chizuru ended up cooing about how happy she was to have another pretty girl join their group and yanking Natsu down to sit next to her. It put her the farthest away from Ichigo and Rukia, so she went along with the treatment and pulled her lunch from her bag.

Her mom had packed empanadas in her bento, full of cheese and greasy goodness. Sado almost knocked Keigo into the fence leaning over to catch a whiff, much to the smaller boy's dismay.

As the two quietest people in the group, their conversation about Hispanic food and grandparents was largely ignored. There was, of course, a difference; Sado was Mexican, while she was Cuban, but there was enough similarity that she couldn’t help but agree to teach him some of her mother’s recipes. Homesickness and cultural similarities were a strong pull. Besides she could be a friend to Sado, _he_ wouldn’t end up dragging her into Ichigo’s clusterfuck anytime soon.

“ _Gracias.”_

_“No hay problema.”_

Silence.

Ichigo had a weird look on his face and Keigo was gaping like a fish.

“You speak Spanish?” the boy blurted, pointing at Sado.

Sado blinked.

“Yes,” and left it at that.

She kept her head down and generally muttered her way through their curious questions. She refused point-blank to speak more Spanish to them, even if they were fascinated by the fact that she was halfie. At least Keigo and Chizuru were, seeing as Sado never talked about it and Orihime and Ichigo had both grown up in fully Japanese households.

She didn’t look like it, other than the fact that she had a deeper than usual tan. Which meant nothing to most people other than the fact that she might spend a lot of time outdoors. Wavy hair could be achieved with minimum amount of styling. By the by, she looked like the average Japanese girl and she was going to play that to the _hilt._ Average didn't attract anime protagonists, it was also useful for blending in with a crowd.

She spent most of the conversation after that giving one word answers. She got up to go back to class the moment she finished her food. 

It wouldn’t do to seem too sociable; if she could establish herself as an awkward classmate not worth the trouble she could alienate Ichigo and his friends handily.

They _were_ teenagers, after all.

 

Oh God, _they were teenagers._

It came to Natsu a little belatedly as Tatsuki continued to chat at her over the obvious barrier of her book during their break the next day. She must have acted _too_ quiet and awkward. Now Tatsuki and Orihime had made it their mission to _include_ her and be her _friends._ It didn’t help that Sado had been completely endeared by her willingness to share her food with him when he felt nostalgic. Getting his approval seemed to elevate her from ‘new girl’ straight to ‘part of the group’. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Natsu was slowly dying inside.

She couldn’t just _blow them off;_ they were all so earnest and friendly—and damn it, okay. She was a _little_ lonely.

Everything was fine. _She_ was fine. Just because she was part of their weird clique didn’t mean she had to _be a part of it._ Keigo, Chizuru and Mizuiro had been left out of the lion share of danger easily. She’d be on an island sipping virgin daiquiris being rubbed down by a hot masseuse when Aizen rolled around with his evil bullshit. She just had to keep a low profile and try _very_ hard not to see ghosts.

_She could do this._


	2. Ain't No Time Like the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of Natsu's increasing velocity descent into nonsense. Also a little less humor cuz im incapable of doing anything funny.

 

_She couldn’t do this._

Natsu stared blankly at the creepy white masked octopus thing resting on the rooftop of the gym and turned on her heel, grabbing Orihime as she went.

“Arisawa, Honsho, let’s get snacks and go watch some shows!” she called, “You can come early tomorrow and we’ll help you clean.”

Orihime recovered admirably.

“Yeah!” she said, “There’s this one show I absolutely cannot miss!”

She stepped forward to begin pushing the other girls away from the school building. All of them chattered back and forth as Natsu rapidly calculated angles and escape routes.

Damnit! She wasn’t supposed to be able to see Hollows.

She spent most of her time around Tatsuki and Yasutora; Ichigo didn’t even register on her radar. Yet here she was, with the unfortunate HD view of a pus covered octopus freak. A lot more freaky than the drawings, _it was dripping._

Natsu had completely forgotten about Ichigo and Ishida’s dumbass battle over who had the biggest dick—highest kill count. She also forgot that Orihime had been assaulted while she was meeting her friends after some Judo Club kids broke a window. So when Orihime came by to ask her to hang out with them after some after-school cleanup, she’d been happy to agree.

Mom and Dad were making some kind of extra room in the basement and the muffled sound of the jackhammer was slowly driving her insane. Not to mention she’d found _bloodstains_ in her bathroom, along with a suspicious pink ring lining her tub.

She was beginning to think her parents had an ulterior motive for sending her to school during the day. It made her much more happy to go and stay out as long as possible. She always appreciated them trying to shield her from the murder and mayhem.

It wasn’t that she didn’t _know_ about what they did for the most part, but not having to deal with the dead bodies was nice.

The Hollow octopus hadn’t moved.

It was fine; Orihime handled this thing in the manga. The whole experience would be a little horrifying but—oh. Looming on the other rooftop was another hollow, hunched and spiked with a wolf-like mask.

_Fuck._

Her heart squeezed into a staccato beat, drumming fear in her temples.

Chizuru and Tatsuki continued to bicker good-naturedly.

Then Tatsuki, the _dumb, ignorant ass,_ ran back to put her school uniform on and change from her Karate sweats. Natsu wasn’t quick enough to prevent Orihime from reacting, effectively giving up the ruse.

“Tatsuki don’t—,” Orihime gasped.

Natsu almost wanted to punch her, but her body was already moving, even as the voice of the Hollow warbled something menacing that she was too distracted to hear. Then everything happened very quickly.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Run Chizu—guh!”

Natsu swung Orihime by the waist under the protective canopy of a bench. Then she grabbed Chizuru and took off running at one of the windows leading into the school as the air hissed with the angry buzz of projectiles.

Everything Mom had taught about taking a fall rattled through her brain, especially about going through windows. Crunching the actions like numbers as her emotions completely divorced themselves from reality.

The windows were cheap enough to be broken in a minor scuffle, which meant they weren’t tempered. Easy to break, but that meant more dangerous glass shards to pass through. If she went shoulder first she’d end up impaled on the glass that stayed in the frame, effectively gutting herself and Chizuru.

“Step on the window ledge,” she snapped at her friend as they approached.

Luckily, Chizuru was freaked out enough that she obeyed without question.

The window rattled when Natsu hurled her phone at it, causing a spider web of cracks to warp its surface. One step ahead of Chizuru, she sent her elbow through the glass with a crash the moment she was close enough. The other girl leapt through with a pained little screech as Natsu followed her, thanking every god that might exist for the fact that Dad had replaced her school shoes with an identical pair with extra protection in the sole. It was the only reason her feet didn’t end up scratched and bloody like her friend’s. She had a few minor cuts along her exposed thighs and arms, but she barely noticed through the haze of adrenaline. She grabbed Chizuru and rolled them both against the wall under the window ledge.

The missiles touched down.

Chizuru gave a short scream when the windows around them shattered. Natsu curled them even tighter together.

Natsu snapped up immediately after the last pod landed, they had a grace period of at least a minute. She was pretty sure that this hollow had been heavy on the gloating and she didn’t know of any being that could create and fire pods of its own making rapid-fire.

“Orihime, in!” she snapped, hissing as she ripped off her uniform shirt to wrap around her hand so she could break the last of the glass on the window ledge. She was lucky she decided to wear a thick undershirt or else she’d have a back full of shards.

She didn’t have to tell the girl twice; she was through the window in seconds as the hollow outside roared in outrage.

Chizuru trembled.

“What was that?” she yelped, only to be ignored.

“What about Tatsuki?” Orihime asked, terrified.

She didn’t answer.

Natsu led them to one of the science labs with no outward facing windows. Then she leaned against a wall to catch her breath.

“We can get to the gym through the building,” she panted, tilting her head up to open her airway, “hopefully she knows you’re not out in the courtyard. More importantly, we have more to worry about than Hentai-Creep.”

Chizuru mouthed the nickname incredulously, collapsing into one of the chairs. Natsu went for the hazardous chemical cabinet, pulling a bobby pin from her messy bun and picking the lock in 20 seconds. She must really be shaken up if it took her that long on such a simple lock. She began filling beakers with chemicals.

“There’s more of them,” Orihime said, eyes steely.

“Yeah, it was smaller. On the school building, so we won’t be safe in here.”

She stuffed a ripped piece of her shirt into another bottle, handing Orihime a lighter.

“Take this, light it and throw it at those monsters any chance you get.”

Her own Molotov was clenched between sweaty fingers.

It seemed that people who could see spirits could hit them, as evidenced by Sado whacking that hollow with a telephone pole in the comics. A jury-rigged Molotov would ruin anyone’s day. Hopefully it would be enough for the wolfy asshole that was no doubt creeping around in the building. Natsu could feel it searching, like fingers tapping up her spine.

Was this the ability to sense reiatsu? It felt like plain old paranoia.

“I just want to know what’s going on,” Chizuru said faintly, looking pale. She was shocked, but not hysterical yet.

Natsu slapped her and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly.

“Freak out later, I need you to be with us right here and now.”

Chizuru grasped her cheek and stared at Natsu like she’d never seen her before.

Orihime made a sound.

“Natsuki-chan,” she admonished, pushing the girl away from Chizuru, “don’t be so rough.”

Then she knelt in front of her friend.

Natsu huffed, jittery, and went to watch the door.

“I need you to trust me Chizuru-chan, there’s something dangerous out there that wants to hurt us, but you can’t see it.”

Orihime grasped her hands.

“Tatsuki’s still out there, we have to find her and get help. Can you do that?”

Chizuru’s expression hardened resolutely and she nodded.

“Great, awesome— _lets go,”_ Natsu hissed.

The stomach turning feeling of something getting closer was almost overwhelming. Natsu nearly screamed in relief when the girls stood up to follow her. Everything in her was urging her to run and never stop.

Orihime was as tense as she was, obviously sensing the same uneasy presence somewhere.

“ ** _Are you ready?”_**

The voice was also warbling, but distinctly different from the enraged ranting of the octopus pacing around in the courtyard. Faintly, Natsu wondered why it hadn’t just knocked over the building.

 ** _“The Oni is coming for you,”_** It crooned, echoing in the halls, obscuring the source of the sound.

Natsu raised a finger to her lips, waited for confirmation from the other two girls before she began walking forward. She locked away the part of her that was panicking; there wasn’t any time for her to be overwhelmed. It was slow progress, she and Orihime having to keep Chizuru between them by necessity. The other girl wouldn’t even know what hit her if something snuck up on her.

Orihime’s eyes were wide and Natsu could already feel the frayed edges of her adrenaline rush.

They had to get out quick.

A dark form lurched out of a classroom, causing Orihime to shout. Natsu felt bile rise in her throat. It was Takeshi Fukushima—a bloody pod was sticking out of his neck and raised veins crawled all over his face.

 ** _“Found you!”_** boomed Hentai-Creep.

 ** _“Found you~”_** cooed a deeper voice, _behind them._

“Run!” Orihime shrieked, grabbing Chizuru and taking off. Natsu was right behind them.

She managed to dodge Fukushima’s reaching hands by a hair, blindly following Orihime as a clattering thump of something inhuman loped after them.

Fear was squeezing everything into a tunnel, blocking off her thoughts, but one thing chilled her bones.

_Orihime was fifteen._

They were a bunch of teenagers, running for their lives from soul-eating monsters. They would be expected to fight them off _on their own_. Orihime survived in the manga because there was only one Hollow. Now there were two and it was _Natsu’s fault._

There wasn’t any other explanation.

Chizuru screamed and dodged around the grasp of a zombie classmate that lurched around a corner.

She had to do _something._

“Split up!” Natsu yelled, “Look for Tatsuki!”

She lit her Molotov and turned around. She got a glimpse of the slavering wolf rapidly approaching, eyes aglow and tongue lolling. She bit her lip and hoped.

“Hey Ugly!”

Then she chucked her weapon.

The pained scream was like music to her ears, sick satisfaction of revenge for the fear the creature had caused her. Then it shook off the flames like nothing. Her stomach dropped.

Then she was running, faster than ever before. Her skirt whipped and tangled around her thighs, her hair trailed like a banner unspooled from her bun. The crashes and enraged cries behind her gave her feet wings and the moment she cut the beast’s line of sight she ducked into a classroom. Natsu barely missed a row of desks as she lunged for the door at the back of the room. Her breath hitched when she nearly knocked down the brooms in the corner, contorting to keep them from clattering and giving her away. She carefully set them on their rack, eyes darting around in the darkness. Then she closed the door of the supply closet, softly and curled up in the corner with her hands clenched over her mouth as she tried to calm her breathing.

“ ** _You’ll pay for that girl,”_** it snarled somewhere in the hallway, “ ** _I know you’re there.”_**

Then the sound and feel of it passed, going further into the school.

Natsu slumped.

Her relief was short-lived. She couldn’t hide forever and Ugly was sure to seek out her friends if it got bored searching for her.

Her friends?

She hadn’t even wanted to be involved with Ichigo and his cohort of impossible teenagers. This Hollow was barely a speck compared to what was to come and she could barely move her legs at just the thought of the thing catching her. She’d never survive.

She leaned more of her weight against the wall, pulling her knees to her chin.

She could just leave.

Couldn’t she?

It was cruel and selfish and right up her alley.

Why did _she_ have to protect them?

She wasn’t special, she wasn’t noble or cheerful or _kind_. Orihime wasn’t her responsibility. Neither was Tatsuki or Chizuru or even Yasutora.

They were warm, though.

She buried her face in her knees as she felt her breath hitch.

Orihime was kind and lovely. She _trusted_ Natsu even when she shouldn’t, indulging her on her theoretical rants about random government conspiracy. Orihime would always talk and contribute and _listen._

Tatsuki was confident and protective. Justice was so intrinsic to her make-up she never let Natsu get away with underhanded tactics. Knocking her over the head and laughing about how ‘ _mousy Natsuki-chan really has a wild side’._ She was the best friend anyone could ask for—the perfect knight.

Yasutora was quiet—always quiet. He loved quietly and was happy quietly and fed cats and dogs on the side of the road. She always ended up huffing sourly, trying not to take a stray home when they walked to his apartment to hang out.

They were her _friends._

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it?

It had to be that simple and human. She liked them and the fear of her friends hurting was greater than her own of dying.

Something determined lit in her chest.

She snorted, wiping her tears. It wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before—dying wasn’t that big of a deal.

If Ugly wanted a meal it was going to have to work for it and Natsu would choke it on the way down its gullet if it came to that.

Natsu crawled onto her knees, trying desperately to think of a plan. Maybe she could use the cleaning chemicals to make a bomb?

She blinked, catching sight of something glowing. On one of the shelves was a bottle of floor cleaner. Next to it glowed a text window full of programming language. Natsu rubbed her eyes as disbelief suffused her.

Nope, still there.

Hesitantly, she pressed her fingers to it, gasping when a section lit up under her touch. She snatched her hand away, hand clenching and sliding sideways, making the bits of programming disappear. The color of the liquid leached out, leaving the cleaner clear as water.

_Holy shit._

What kind of gamer bullshit power was this?

The language seemed to be a few functions and descriptors. The more she stared at it the more it started to look familiar. It was piecemeal and difficult, but she was grateful she understood it at all. It definitely wasn’t Java.

 **Func…blue…NH 2**… **C 2H4**

The characteristics of the bottle and the cleaner?

Okay, so she must be seeing the basic programming describing the function or existence of an object. Proven by the fact that making some of it disappear changed the…color?

_So much bullshit._

Random power?

Check.

Evil creature after her?

Check.

Conclusion?

_This was all Ichigo’s fucking fault._

**HOLE_Closed**

Natsu wobbled, trembling with exhaustion. It was the kind of weakness that came from running marathons and pulling all-nighters consecutively. Considering how much she’d been messing around with her new ability to manipulate the programming of the universe she was surprised she hadn’t fainted. Also, _she could mess with the programming of the universe._ Duplicating and writing code had never been so exhilarating or exhausting before. Hacking was going to seem like bare nibs from now on.

She crept towards the door, the flickering ability to sense Ugly having faded as she drained away what little ability she had.

Her hands were sweaty where they clenched around the bottle bomb, careful to keep it level. It was lucky that Karakura High authorities had little to no knowledge of what an intelligent budding criminal could do with floor cleaner and some window shine.

She stepped into the hall. The windows faced the inner courtyard, no sign of the Hentai-Creep. Overcast clouds dimmed the sunlight; shadows deepened. It added one more thing to Natsuki’s list of things to worry about.

With deliberate slowness she shouldered the door open, letting the broom she had set on the other side clatter into the quiet of the hall. Her heart jumped at the sound.

The Hollow roared.

Her spine locked for the fraction of the second it took for the thing to barrel down the hall and catch sight of her. Then she was tumbling back into the room, running for the wall farthest from the door and pressing her back to it. Her hands held the bottle steady; she didn’t fancy chemical burns on top of her glass studded arms and legs.

The lope of the beast slowed outside the door before it stepped in, shoulder spikes catching on the doorway and head bowed.

It turned its glittering red eyes on her.

“ ** _Little girl finally giving up?”_**

It’s eyes drifted to the bottle in her hand.

It hissed.

“ ** _Plans to hurt the Oni, does it? Little girl should know better. Oni doesn’t leave until he has his prey, nothing can break his armor.”_**

“Nothing, you say?” Natsu squeaked out, skipping calm and collected and going straight for terrified, “Those burns look painful to me.”

The Hollow snarled, advancing with deliberate slowness.

**_“Oni will enjoy his meal—eat while it screams. Then Oni will go eat the other sweet little girls—make a nice party in his stomach.”_ **

Anger blazed through Natsu, strengthening her voice into something cold and arch.

“I’d like to see you try, this whole hunt has taken a disappointingly long time.”

Then she shook her bottle bomb and chucked it at Ugly. The hollow snatched it out of the air and rattled it mockingly. Natsu smirked and twisted her fingers across a piece of programming near the floor, deleting a section.

The bomb exploded, causing the Hollow to scream as the floor opened up under it, revealing a pit of broken brooms. The ends were pointing upward into an improvised spike pit.

It let out a surprisingly doglike yelp when it was impaled and _popped._ It felt like it, at least. A deluge of dark foul smelling blood fountained from it and splashed on Natsu, causing her to let out a disgusted scream. It soothed the acid burns that had appeared on her arms from the spray of the explosion earlier—so, silver linings.

_But, she was never going to be clean again._

A history of comics and Murphy’s Law made her peer over the edge of the pit to make sure Ugly wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

_Yeah, definitely dead._

The shaft of wood through the face seemed pretty final to her.

A little anticlimactic, but she could deal—she wasn’t the star of the show, after all. Besides she was obscenely grateful for the fact that she hadn’t had to deal with some ass-pull power at the last second.

Her uniform was soaked; she frowned as she picked her way around the pit. Would the blood make her clothes look wet to other people? If they couldn’t see Hollows how would they notice the wetness? Her shirt acted like it was wet, clinging to her back and her thighs slid and stuck together in a distinctly disgusting way every time she took a step.

_That’s a wall._

She made a puzzled sound as she slid to the floor. Legs missing? No, still there—won’t move, though. Her sight narrowed, eyes drooping under the weight of some heavy hand.

_I hope Orihime made it out okay._

Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's a little morally bankrupt and Orihime's the only one who sees it. Natsu may have hacked into some jerks personal accounts and shoved a few people down the stairs for harassing the Hime. Not that there was any evidence, but Orihime can be perceptive like that sometimes.  
> Never trust anything Natsu says, she'll roll back on everything to keep up appearances.


	3. Hellacious Headaches

Natsu woke up; groggy, she could only blink up at the concerned face of Orihime, Yasutora a worried shadow in the background.

“Ah, the last of our sleepers is awake,” the snap of a fan opening.

She turned on her side, taking in the scruffy appearance of Kisuke Urahara beaming at her with a showman’s practiced smile.

“Be careful Natsuki-chan!” Orihime gasped, helping the girl sit up. She was mindful of the bandages covering the girl’s arms and legs. Yasutora loomed like an anxious shadow even as Natsu waved off Orihime’s concerned hands.

Abstractly, Natsu realized someone had cleaned her off and replaced her clothes with a set of oversized men’s pajamas. They hung on her frame, making her feel obscenely small. She took a moment to mourn her ruined uniform, picking at her cuffed sleeves as she stumbled to her feet.

She didn’t even have the energy to be vaguely freaked out about the fact that someone in the shop had undressed her and cleaned her up. She could only hope it had been Ururu.

“Now that she’s awake, tell us more about these powers,” Yasutora rumbled, eyes trained on the shopkeeper. Natsu felt her expression flatten even further when Urahara started explaining Hollows and Shinigami. Her capacity to care shot to hell by the migraine that being in the shop was giving her.

Urahara’s cane-sword was spilling red bits of programming. The letters swirled organically around the object, twining with the blue-purple language tightly circling around the shopkeeper.

Orihime and Yasutora weren’t much better, bright letters and phrases sparking from hairpins and arm respectively.

All of the different colors clashed across her vision, juxtaposed with the bright little windows that popped up over objects when she turned her gaze on them. She squinted, playing up her fatigue to try and block out the distracting stimuli.

“That—that’s impossible, it’s too much,” Orihime murmured expression troubled, when Urahara reached the end of his exposition. Her gaze slid to Natsu, who yawned and leaned more heavily on Yasutora’s arm. Natsu tucked her hands into one of his palms and did her damndest to look like she was napping while standing up.

Urahara’s explanation of the supernatural left much to be desired. It provided the bare bones of what they needed to know, though. Her own questions about the balance of souls and the reincarnation cycle stayed stuck behind her teeth. Her own mysterious existence would remain a puzzle until she had a safer, less suspicious way to make a few inquiries.

The inherently misty explanation of the workings of the afterlife could be respected when she was reading it in a shounen manga; it was whole different kettle of fish when she was swimming in the middle of it.

It had bothered Natsu vaguely when she’d had the time to think about it, before, but she’d pushed the thought to the side, unconcerned. It was one thing to resign herself to the fact that both of her parents were going to Hell. Murder wasn’t really a bright spot on a resume for the afterlife. It was another ballgame entirely to actually try and figure out a hasty and muddled explanation of a system with no outside sources or extra material to call on.

Now, it was a more pressing concern. If she could see and interact with spirits— _thanks Ichigo_ —then knowledge of Soul Society and its science became a million times more pressing.

Natsu was curious by nature. Her only saving grace so far had been her inability to see the supernatural and her noninvolvement policy with the supernatural. Now she had _powers,_ friends that were going to throw themselves face first into danger, and a partially obsolete outline of events to come.

She hazily listened to Urahara lecture them on their new talents. Boiled down to the bare basics: you hang out with Ichigo and have potential—congratulations on your new superpowers!

Her parents had always told her she got attached too easily. Her giant crying fit when they’d told her she couldn’t take home the puppy she spent an hour with in the pet store was a good example. She’d sulked in her room for hours.

She’d been fourteen.

A wild ride was on its way, seeing as rescuing Rukia was a domino stack of plot convenient happenings wrapped up in mind-bendingly crazy wrapping. Orihime and Yasutora could _die_ if they went to rescue Rukia and were off by even a few minutes.

Her heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

Natsu sighed, tuning back in to catch the end of Urahara’s speech.

“—come and observe for yourselves.”

Natsu pushed off Yasutora, stretching with a wince. There wasn’t anything she needed to see—her decision had been made the moment she dried her tears and decided to _fight_ instead of run. Watching Ichigo and Ishida be idiots and subjecting herself to the sight of a Menos Grande wouldn’t help her resolve.

She might back out just from the combined power of their carelessness frying her nerves.

“Gonna be a hard pass for me—I got to get home and clean up, I am _starving.”_

“But—,” Orihime bit down on the rest of the sentence.

Yasutora offered an arm when Natsu swayed on her injured legs. It wasn’t that bad, but all the little cuts and wounds _stung._ All of them together on top of her migraine and fatigue were _exhausting._ She sourly considered the fact that she had not been subject to the magical healing supplements Urahara probably had hiding in his shop. Couldn’t blame a man for not wasting stock on someone that wouldn’t pay for it. However, she _could_ pettily resent him for it and every other action he was going to take to push Ichigo into his machinations of the future war. By proxy, all of his friends—which included _her_ friends.

_What a dick._

How Ichigo and Yasutora walked around with bruises from falling steel beams and wounds from being impaled by claws, she would never know.

“Natsuki is pretty hurt, I don’t think she should be going anywhere other than home.” The large boy said.

Natsu smiled up at her friend, grateful. Trust Yasutora to have her back.

The shopkeeper’s fan snapped open.

“Maki-san _has_ had a rather difficult day,” he gestured to the looming form behind him, “Tessai will escort her home safely—you kids can follow me.”

Orihime squeezed Natsu’s hand before she left, causing the girl to give her a reassuring smile and an answering grip.

‘Escort’ apparently meant swinging her onto his back and carrying her and her school bag—where did he even find that—straight to her parents’ house at a decent clip. Natsu was pretty sure that Tessai didn’t know the meaning of the words ‘human limits’, but she let herself enjoy the wind whipping through her hair and the freaked out looks of pedestrians as the giant man zoomed past them.

He dropped her at the door with a quiet, “Have a nice day.” Then took off in a cloud of dust. Natsu waved at his retreating back, fishing her keys from her bag and unlocking her door.

“I’m home!”

Her father poked his head out of the kitchen; he pushed his reading glasses into his hair with a wet hand and smiled. A window flickered into existence beside the glass frames. Little bits of green code trailed from his hands.

“Welcome back!”

Then he took in the full view of his daughter.

“Ah—honey I thought we told you not to directly confront people when you can just remotely ruin their lives,” he said, drying his hands on a dishcloth as he approached.

“ _Is that Nachan?”_

The muffled sound of her mother stomping up from the basement rattled the floorboards.

Natsu held out her arms for a hug and sunk into her Dad’s embrace. He rubbed her back and picked at her pajamas.

“This definitely isn’t hospital clothing. What happened hon?”

Natsu groaned as her mother tumbled into them, shoving them all onto the couch and joining the hug. Her wounds ached vaguely, but the warmth of her parents’ embrace made her melt. The stress headache she’d been nursing since she woke up eased.

“I got into a fight with a ghost and murdered it.”

Mom made a startled sound.

“Really? Sound’s scary.”

 _God_ , Natsu loved her parents.

“Yeah, you might get a call from the school. I…vandalized a few things with our…game.”

Ugly _thought_ it was a game—joke was on him.

Her mother cooed, patting her daughter’s tangled hair.

“You take after me, my little hellion.”

Her father snorted and pushed away his wife, cuddling Natsu to his chest. Mom slapped at him, laughing.

“ _Excuse you_ , she takes after me—don’t you?”

Natsu made a muffled _‘mhrp’_ sound into her father’s apron and breathed in the faint smell of napalm.

“Papa, are you making explosives in the kitchen again?”

Dad chuckled sheepishly.

“Until we kit out the basement I don’t really have anywhere to make my tools.”

So, that was why they were making such a racket in the basement. Natsu pulled away, poking him in the chest playfully.

“Am I the only one in this house that thinks it might be a bad idea to make explosives where we prepare our food—I’m not the only one, right?”

Her mother shrugged, eyes glittering mischievously. She rose to sway gracefully to the TV, turning it on with a click.

“What happened to your lab in the warehouse district?”

Dad scowled, staring menacingly at the crowing form of Don Kanonji.

“Some criminal-looking types moved in recently. I had to deconstruct it,” he huffed.

Natsu rolled her eyes and threw a couch pillow on his lap to set her head down.

“You _are_ a criminal Dad.”

“I mean—well, yeah, but I don’t _look_ like it.”

He really didn’t, he looked like a Dad™. He had reading glasses, functionally short hair and a gentle smile. He also made explosives and regularly assassinated mob hitmen. The reason why the mob liked to send people after him remained murky, but Mom let him get away with playing with them because he never brought the conflict home.

“I think we’re having pizza tonight,” the sound of the refrigerator opening and closing, “with soda and dessert.”

Mom strode from the kitchen, distractedly tapping in the number of the pizza parlor down the street. She flopped on the couch near Natsu’s feet, grabbing her ankles and settling them in her lap as she talked to the employee that answered the phone.

She ordered a large margherita pizza with a couple bottles of soda and a full brownie dish. Then she began to carefully rub Natsu’s ankles.

“Let me check these out in the morning— _mija?”_

 _“Claro que si Mami.”_ Natsu slurred, hypnotized by the script curling around her mother’s wrist in a soft black bands. Windows of code popped open around the simple silver of her necklace.

Natsu fell asleep with her father gently running his fingers through her hair and the sound of evening anime tickling her ears.

She woke up with fresh bandages and a note by her bed that told her leftover pizza was in the fridge. Her phone cheerfully reminded her that it was the second to last day of school before summer vacation. She summarily shut it off and rolled over. She was number five in class ranking for midterms and wasn’t interested in summer plans. She _really_ didn’t have to go to school.

She spent the rest of the day napping until her grumbling stomach forced her out of bed. Dad looked up from the newspaper when she entered the kitchen.

“Feeling better?”

Natsu grunted an affirmative around a slice of cold pizza.

Her mother ruffled her hair on the way past, trailing plaster dust as she grabbed a jar of napalm from the cabinet.

“You know you can talk to us about anything, right baby?”

Natsu nodded as she shook dust from her hair.

“I’m just going to be doing a personal project for a few weeks this summer—it won’t involve any property damage or anything, but I might disappear for awhile.”

Her mother frowned, tapping her short nails into the cap of her jar.

“If you need help, tell us, okay?”

Natsu offered them both a smile, warm with their support. She _wished_ they could help, but despite the programming that seeped off them they didn’t have any supernatural talents. It was the same code that seeped off every living thing she saw, including birds and the average citizen she’d had time to examine on her way back from the shop the other day. There was one thing about her parents that she loved; it was their complete faith in her. If she had been an actual teenager it would have been worrying, but seeing as she wasn’t it was just convenient and heartwarming. It helped that they always offered their aid and it was practically impossible to get in trouble unless she was sloppy about a crime.

“I’ll ask the moment I need it.”

Mom nodded, satisfied and skipped towards the basement, whistling.

Dad just sighed and returned to reading the paper.

“Not going to school today?”

“Nope, it’s the almost my last day and I want to start my project as soon as possible.”

He peered at her over his glasses.

“A girl called earlier—Inoue Orihime, I think. She said she wanted to come by to visit.”

Natsu perked up.

“Oh, really?”

“I told her yes, so she’ll be by in a few hours.”

Natsu grinned, obscurely excited. Orihime had never come to visit her before. Admittedly that was because Natsu didn’t want to deal with her parents’ completely lackadaisical attempts to hide their criminal habits.

They’d once had a house party, only for one of the guests to find her father’s gun collection. Nakamura’s cousin was a detective in the _Tokyo police._ Luckily her parents had convinced him that the guns were fakes.

‘Refuge in audacity’ her mother liked to say.

Then she looked at the state of their house. Plaster dusted the floor and what looked like a homemade meth lab was in the kitchen. Mom had left her knife set out on the coffee table when she had sharpened them last. A gun handle poked out from under the couch.

“We have to clean! Orihime’s never been over before!”

She immediately went to grab the broom to sweep up dust.

“Hide Mami’s guns Papa, I’ll clean the floors.”

Her father groaned, heaving up from his seat.

“Can’t you just have her up in your room?”

Natsu scowled and shoved a trash bag into his arms.

“No—I absolutely will not.”

 

“You look much better Natsuki-chan!”

Natsu grinned and leaned into the hug Orihime enveloped her in. Her chest was like a pillow, a really soft warm pillow. Not for the first time, Natsu reminded herself that her flushed ears were because of her reserved upbringing around strangers. It wasn’t like she crawled all over Yasutora at every opportunity or let Chizuru use her like a set prop.

At all.

Ever.

Fucking hormones.

“Yeah, I just needed some rest and a shower. How are you Orihime-chan?”

The girl waved off her concern with a giggle.

“I’m doing much better, Tatsuki-chan and Chizuru-chan as well.”

The sound of a jackhammer rattled the floorboards. Natsu hissed and stomped her foot. There was no way they weren’t doing it on purpose; they had finished pulling up all the concrete yesterday. Orihime stared at the floor with a puzzled look, mouth opening with the edge of a question.

Natsu grabbed her hand.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Orihime nodded obediently, shouldering her bag and following Natsu to the upper floor. The girl made an awed sound when Natsu shut the door of her room behind her, staring interested at the computer set up on her desk. It consisted of three wide flat-screens, one of them lit up with a whirling pixel screen-saver while the other two were occupied with information combing programs for local gang activity and unusual incidents.

Just because she hadn’t been able to see ghosts or the supernatural until recently didn’t mean she couldn’t be prepared to avoid chaos when it barreled into town. Which it did frequently, according to her programs. Karakura wasn’t exactly Sunnydale, but the obituary was pretty full even for a district of a big city like Tokyo.

The screens didn’t look like much to the untrained eye: just multiple progress bars filling up at intervals and filling in the overall progress percentage. It would ping an update on the information comb and send the findings to her parents’ phones before going through the cycle again after a few hours to cool down. Her own flip-phone also had a direct line. Commercialized, fully functional smartphones wouldn’t exist for another six or so years, much to her dismay.

“It’s like a movie in here,” Orihime said, excited and clapping her hands.

Natsu grinned, pride puffing up her chest.

“Yeah I’m really into computers and stuff.”

She kicked a skirt under her bed and threw a pile of laundry off her covers and onto the floor, presenting the newly cleared seat to her friend as she sat down. She hadn’t thought to tidy up her own room between exiling her parents to their basement project and scrambling to hide her father’s garrote wire.

“I know that, but this is super cool! It’s like an anime or something. Do you hack the government with this?”

Orihime moved the mouse around curiously, breaking the screensaver and revealing a site advertising Caribbean cruises.

Natsu snorted.

“No, nothing that…criminal. I just run programs and make browsers, games and…stuff.”

Also she hacked into remote accounts and anonymously blackmailed the young elite of Japan and China. A girl has to get spending money somehow if she wanted to live a life of world-travel and luxury after she graduated college—and high school, again.

Wow, this being avoidant stuff was much harder than she thought. Note: don’t let people see her set-up in the future.

“Do you think you can hack Hinamoto-sensei’s computer from here? He’s a real creep, we can make it play horror music and stuff with a face, like ‘Blegh’.”

Orihime helpfully demonstrated said face, pulling a giggle from Natsu.

“We’d need to get his IP and stuff, or his phone, then I could do it.”

“So cool!” Orihime cackled, flopping down next to Natsu with a sigh and letting her bag bang to the floor.

Natsu leaned back, tucking her feet under her while Orihime got comfortable. The dull thrum of the power tools in the basement faded into the background.

“What brings you here?”

Orihime’s expression darkened and her eyes drifted away from Natsu’s prying gaze.

“Oh—um—well, it’s about the other day with the…Hollows.”

Natsu felt her own spine stiffen, remembering the disgusting splash of Ugly’s blood and the watery terror of pursuit.

It was weird to feel it happen, how her own demeanor quieted from the jittery, young excitement of having a friend over to the reminder of her own looming mortality. It was like snapping back from a fog. One of the pitfalls of having a teenage body with the underdeveloped brain that came with it. For all of her experience and ability she was still beholden to her own biology.

“Yeah?”

Orihime shifted uneasily before leaning back to prop herself against the wall that the bed sat flush against, brushing shoulders with Natsu.

“Back then we—I didn’t mean—when it came—,” Orihime bit her lip, eyes wet.

Natsu placed a hand on her arm, encouraging.

“I’m sorry!” the girl burst out. Code sparked and sputtered around her hairpins like an error message.

“When everything was happening I abandoned you and you had to take care of that thing all by yourself! I _left!_ ”

Natsu slung a hand over the girl’s shoulder.

“Hey—no, Orihime-chan. None of that was your fault.”

“But _it was_! All I could think about was Tatsuki-chan and Chizuru-chan, it was all so _scary._ ”

She clutched desperately at Natsu’s hand.

“You got hurt! I had Chizuru-chan and Tatsuki-chan, but you were all alone.”

Orihime let her tears fall.

“ _I’m sorry.”_

Natsu could only gape, silently. She hadn’t thought of it like that. It had seemed logical to her that Orihime had split off, Natsu had separated from her willingly. It had been an adrenaline fueled snap decision, but she could see how someone could view it as abandonment from the wrong angle.

“Orihime—no let me speak. _I ran off on my own._ ”

The girl’s breath hitched again and she shook her head in denial. Natsu grabbed her shoulders and forced the Orihime to meet her eyes.

“ _Look at me_ —we both did what we had to do to survive. It all turned out for the best and no one died, that’s the best we could have asked for.”

She wiped a tear from Orihime’s cheek.

“You protected Tatsuki-chan and Chizuru-chan and I managed fine on my own. You never need to feel responsible for someone else’s choices and I will never blame you for something that you had no _control over.”_

Orihime’s gaze was pale and bright, locked with Natsu’s own.

“You did good Orihime.”

Orihime sniffled and nodded wiping at her eyes.

“It was—you’re a good friend Natsuki-chan, it’s just a lot y’know?”

She gestured expansively.

“Hollows and Shinigami. Ghosts and the afterlife, it’s all so scary and—and big. We _nearly died._ Tatsuki-chan nearly died!”

She flopped over into a breathless sprawl, head landing in Natsu’s lap.

“Now I have superpowers! Like a magical girl—or, or a super cyborg! Do you have powers too? What are they?”

Natsu blinked, startled by the mood whiplash.

“I—well, yeah I do. It’s like—,” she tapped in the air in an imitation of a keyboard, careful to avoid the blinking blank window that showed up with the gesture, something to be investigated later.

“I can see the program of things and then I can draw and delete what I want too—if I can read it.”

Orihime tugged excitedly at Natsu’s shirt, staring up from her lap.

“You’re like _Hackerman_ or something—like _shwoom_! Taste the power of technology!”

Natsu giggled at the massacred English title.

“Yeah—like that kind of.”

Orihime’s stomach growled and she flushed with a chuckle. Natsu rolled her off her lap with a laugh and grabbed her wallet from her end table.

“Let’s go get sushi, on me Orihime-chan.”

The girl rose to her knees, bouncing excitedly.

“Really? Can we go to that place, y’know with the octopus with the knives?”

The place she was talking about was only a few minutes away; it had a large selection of customizable sushi and a cute mascot that hung over the door. Natsu could only imagine the look on the guy’s face when Orihime started making her own sushi, it would be hilarious.

She smiled as she followed the other girl out of the house, sending her parent’s a quick text.

Orihime was recovered, for now, but there would be more to come. Larger battles, higher stakes, losses along with victories. First she had to prepare for Soul Society and Rukia’s rescue, and then everything else would come. Her focus had to be on her friends and not losing sight of her life on the other side of everything.

Today she would eat with Orihime and call Yasutora to touch base; tomorrow her powers would be in focus and after that training with Yoruichi if she could manage.

Watch out Soul Society, Natsuki Maki doesn’t pull any punches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orihime is a Good Friend(tm), but also not very law-abiding. Natsu's parents are worrisome and the best parents in the Bleach universe at the same time. If that isn't something that makes you worry I don't know what should. Natsuki is my Bisexual Babe.


	4. Kung-Fu Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! Wow I can't believe how many people like my story and Natsu! This chapter is the last one before changes really begin to set in so prepare for a ride!

Natsu moaned into Yasutora’s shoulder blades, sacked out on his back and feeling like one giant bruise.

“If you can’t figure out how to use your ability _quickly_ you won’t survive even one of the battles to come,” rasped Yoruichi, perched on a nearby crate.

Yasutora grunted, but considerately remained still as Natsu’s pillow.

The last day of school had come and gone, Rukia conspicuously missing from class. It had been creepy as hell, watching people navigate around as if she had never existed. She was the focus of some attention, seeing as she had to wear her school tracksuit to class. Her new uniform was set to show up in a few days.

Orihime had bit her lip and watched Ichigo walk around in an almost daze, looking at everything with glazed eyes and wincing slightly with every step. Natsu observed from behind her book about game theory, having decided to come to school for her friends’ sake, if nothing else. Tatsuki and Chizuru had greeted her normally, as if a giant octopus and a reject from the creepiest Red Riding Hood RPG to hit the market hadn’t assaulted them all. That was also surreal as hell.

She ended up following Yasutora and Orihime to meet Yoruichi and professing to the cat that she wanted to fight with her friends. She escaped having to explain the specifics of her power, duplicating a few boxes and disappearing more, but it seemed Yoruichi had decided to play hardball. No matter what Natsu tried to say about relative programming and interfaces needing _time_ to be constructed the feline kept ambushing her. Soon Natsu had a keen paranoia and an unnerving caution around black cats. By the end of the day Yasutora and Orihime were coming along swimmingly, only Natsu was lagging behind.

Mercifully, she wasn’t there when they went to go visit Ishida. She claimed exhaustion and limped home. His Quincy nonsense wasn’t something she wanted to subject herself to. His stiff and unapproachable personality was enough to deal with at school.

When she escaped Yoruichi the first day, she sat on her bed after a long shower and opened a blank text window. She chewed on piece of teriyaki beef jerky and thinking about game interfaces and touch sensitive glass she began to type. In the air a glowing keyboard appeared, familiar as her breath. Soon a scrolling wall of text was before her, streaming well into the night and morning.

“Honey! Are you coming down for breakfast?”

“I’m busy! I’ll eat later.”

The sound of shuffling as her mother’s voice floated more clearly up the stairs.

“What have you been doing? You’ve been up in your cave forever!”

Natsu snarled, surrounded in discarded chip bags and empty energy drinks. Her eyes reflected mad and bloodshot in the mirror across the room. The only part visible under the comforter she had pulled over her head.

“ _I’m learning to bend the universe to my will!”_

A pause.

“Okay baby, there’s leftovers in the fridge—oh, and don’t open the freezer in the garage. Papa has something in there for the landfill!”

Wait. When had they had the time to murder someone? She blinked at her clock, squinting in the dim light of her blacked out room.

“Who?”

“No one important, just a hitman or something—maybe, anyway we’re taking a trip to Okinawa this weekend for business. Also maybe for a week or two—we’re not sure, some _puta_ is making a nuisance of herself.”

Natsu’s gaze darted around, wary of a ghost popping out of the walls or something. Unlikely, since all of the people her parent’s killed targeted them first or were otherwise terrible people. One way tickets to Hell for those schmucks.

“Get me a souvenir! Like a keychain or something.”

“Will do honey!”

“ _The cars all packed, let’s go Mila.”_

“Bye, love you!”

“Have a safe trip!”

The door shut and the sound of the car engine faded into the distance.

Natsu squinted at her screen, suddenly uninspired, and wandered down to eat eggs straight out of the skillet on the stove. She nearly dropped the pan when her doorbell rang. She was in shorts and a tank, trailing her comforter with her egg-crusted spatula raised when she opened the door.

“Good morning!” Orihime cheered as Natsu squinted belligerently into the bright light.

She gave a relieved sigh when Yasutora stepped into the doorway with a more quiet morning greeting, blocking out the sunlight.

She stepped back to let them enter, slouching towards the dinner table in the kitchen.

“—So I thought, since we’re all going to be training together we can meet up before heading to the construction site.” Orihime finished.

Natsu nodded, it sounded like a good idea and it let them hang out a bit. Yasutora picked up a machete spotted with rusty color from the sink. Natsu wrinkled her nose.

Her parents must have been in a hurry if they left something like that lying around. She felt a niggling worry squirm in her stomach. The yakuza were escalating enough that her parents had left evidence lying around in the sink. Not even in a bleach bath or cleaner. She had full confidence that they could handle it, but she worried.

“My dad likes to cut up fresh meat, bloodier the better.”

Sometimes when they were still alive, but only if they didn’t give the right amount of information. Not that she knew personally, her parents had a tendency to keep wet work out of the house. The few times she had caught them out had only been in the aftermath. They’d let her have as much dessert as she wanted for _months_ when they forgot to lock the garage freezer and she discovered some of their handiwork. It still gave her unpleasant shivers to think about it.

Yasutora delicately replaced the blade.

“Let me get dressed,” she sighed.

Orihime smiled.

 

Natsu cried into the dirt.

“I just want to rest.”

Yoruichi hopped onto her head with suitably feline disdain.

“This power of yours is extremely situational girl, we have to train you up as much as we can physically so you don’t die within the first seconds of battle.”

Orihime poked Natsu in the cheek, lips pursed with concern. Yasutora wisely took a chance to gulp down a bottle of water while their drill instructor was distracted. Natsu glared resentfully at Orihime’s attractively flushed skin, noting her lack of bruises. In counterpoint her _everything_ twanged unpleasantly.

“Orihime-chan try healing your friends bruises—just so,” Yoruichi said as the orange glow of Orihime’s Shun Shun Rikka lit up the room. Natsu melted into the comforting warmth of the girl’s spirit energy as the cat swanned off to abuse Yasutora. The boy perked up at the approach of his teacher, the masochist. Soon the air was filled with grunts and he sound of shattering wood.

Her training sessions with the former Shinigami Captain were coming along well, if painfully. Most of her nights were spent writing code and discovering new language, trying to find a way to make an active interface to let her control her power better. It drained what little energy she had left after her training sessions until she passed out from sheer exhaustion every night. But she _could_ survive a fall from a third story window with nary a scratch—so, progress.

Her parents sent her a postcard from Paris, a picture of them posing in front of the Mona Lisa, obviously after hours in the vault that stored it when it wasn’t on display.

Natsu pouted when she pulled the shiny paper from the envelope.

_Wish you were here!_

Was scrawled across the back in her mother’s curling script.

When she finally birthed a smartphone from thin air, a child of the scrolling text she had been working on for _days,_ she promptly fainted for 12 hours. Not before screaming so loud that she had scared the local wildlife and attracted the owner of the Kurosaki Clinic.

She ended up bowing out with many apologies and thanks for their care before skipping off to Yasutora’s apartment to shove her new creation in his face. He was suitably impressed with the touchscreen and apps, though the thing wouldn’t respond to his touch.

Yoruichi was less impressed, so Natsu spent her time running from sharp claws and limping home with bright red marks all over her. Orihime was forbidden from healing her, her time focused on calling her shield as quickly as possible. Natsu spent the rest of that night typing away and snarling, determined to pull one over on the Goddess of Flash.

When Yoruichi leapt at her the next day she clicked a blue app on her phone and stylized wings appeared at her ankles in a flash of golden light. Like Herme’s sandals, they carried her with a flash of speed. In a blur Natsu twisted away, landing lightly on the side of a pillar in a crouch. She grinned down at Yoruichi, ignoring Orihime’s excited clapping.

“Good,” the cat rumbled, simply, turning away.

The dark feline began drilling Orihime on her shield and attack, leaving Natsu to drop weightlessly from the pillar to stand beside Yasutora.

“How?” the boy asked.

Natsu tried to think of a way to explain it without getting extremely technical; the trial and error of reiatsu coding with app creation and interface manipulation. Learning the language of ambient energy and linking her spirit to the phone had been a study in frustration. Then she’d retooled the thing to look _awesome_ , styling the wings in faint golden light.

“I don’t know—I just didn’t like that cat beating me up every time I came out here.”

She shrugged.

Yasutora stared at her out of the corner of his eye, but decided it would be too much effort to force a more detailed explanation out of her.

They all went out for ice cream after, Orihime giggling about the festival the next day and finally meeting up with Ichigo after a whole _ten days._ Natsu smiled at the other girl’s enthusiasm, conspicuously tugging her and Yasutora’s shared chocolate mint sundae from Orihime’s bean-paste vanilla monstrosity.

She spent most of the festival in the back of the group, smiling at Keigo’s enthusiasm and cheering for the fireworks with Tatsuki. Ichigo’s gaze passed over everyone with a distant stillness, even as he bantered with Keigo and huffed at Mizuiro. The weight of his quest to save Rukia spoke to Natsu in his movements, heavy with responsibility no one should have to shoulder so young. It made something in her chest twist, despite everything. She and Ichigo had never been very compatible, not quite able to make it past acquaintanceship. For all his resentment of authority and disregard for order his style didn’t quite mesh with Natsu’s mercenary practicality and disregard for general conventions. She couldn’t act every day of her life and it showed in the way she talked and acted, clashing with his weirdly honorable attitude when they had the time to interact. The part of her that was old, the part that looked at her friends and could only think of how _young_ they all were, was angry on his behalf.

It strung steel into her spine and lit a fire in her heart.

She spent the next week making new apps and practicing her energy manipulation.

She almost forgot about the bloody wall message that Urahara favored until she opened her window on the last day and it spattered on wall over her bed, ruining her blankets—her _limited edition, extremely expensive, one-of-a-kind_ bedspread.

She screamed in outrage and ran out of the house as fast as she could, snarling about creepy shopkeepers and their terrible sense of humor. She barely had time to pull on some athletic shorts and tennis shoes before she slammed the door shut and locked it behind her. Her neighbor rushed out of the house barely a second after her, straight into her path.

She nearly collided with Ichigo, who yelped out a startled, “Maki!” before she overtook him. Orihime called her name as she passed, jogging out of an alley, but she ignored her with murder at the forefront of her mind. It might come to nothing but she was going to make a concerted effort to _dropkick_ Urahara the moment she saw him.

Sure she could probably get the stuff off her blankets easily with her powers and some detergent, but that wasn’t the point. That asshole made work for her and then made it so that she had to leave it until she got back.

Yasutora caught her before she could kick down the door of the shop, lifting her off the ground casually as she flailed.

“He _ruined_ my limited edition Kamen Rider bedspread, let me _go_!”

Ichigo and Orihime finally caught up, panting.

“What’s the big deal Maki? They’re just blankets.”

Natsu twisted to look Ichigo in the eye.

“ _Do you know—,” how many people I had to hack and blackmail to steal them?_

She took a breath and forced herself to relax, going limp with Yasutora holding her up by her armpits.

“I’m calm Yasutora-kun,” she sighed.

Her feet touched concrete.

They had been her first solo op, granted by her indulgent parents when she was six. One year after, her father had pronounced her skills sufficient for work behind the scenes, if not in the field.

“Do I want to ask?” Ishida said warily, walking up to the scene.

“Oh—Ishida-kun! I think Maki wet her bed.” Orihime answered promptly. Natsu squeaked at her wording.

“I did not!”

Ichigo cackled at her pain.

“What’s with the weird outfit Ishida?”

Then the Quincy hot huffy and tried to argue for his aesthetics. Natsu could respect a man that stuck to his guns with his looks.

“It seems that everyone is here,” said Urahara, appearing from thin air behind them just to walk forward, clicking on his wooden sandals to open the door of the shop. Then he said something ominous about dying and pain. It was standard talk for the man as far as Natsu had learned—that and his love for dramatic entrances.

For all he tried to front and act carefree, the guy was so depressing it gave Natsu hives.

As they made their way into the shop to the basement Ichigo hung back to walk beside her.

“Are you really coming along Maki?”

Natsu peered at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Yeah,” she answered simply.

His scowl deepened and took on a worried edge. Not surprising since she was an inch shorter than Orihime and leaner besides. The girl took her self-defense with Tatsuki seriously and had back muscles to die for. She wasn’t even friends with Rukia as far as he knew.

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” she snapped before he could open his mouth and insert a foot, “I know exactly what I’m getting into—maybe better than you do.”

Then she hopped through the hole in the floor, ignoring his red ears and irritated scowl. With a flex of her feet she activated her app. Golden wings shimmered into existence at her ankles. Her Fleet Footing came naturally, no need to consult her phone to activate it, spirit energy bending and flowing along familiar paths.

She grinned when Orihime slid the last few feet down the ladder with a whoop, landing next to Natsu with her hands raised like a gymnast. Natsu obligingly clapped for her. Not to be outdone Yasutora leapt from the ladder from a height, landing with panache on one knee and a bracing fist.

Orihime and Natsu whistled and applauded, laughing. Ichigo took the chance to land on his friend’s broad shoulders with a smirk. Yasutora wobbled in his unbalanced position and fell face first into the dirt. Natsu leaned on Orihime’s shoulder as she tried to breath through her laughter. The other girl joined her a minute later when she had made sure neither of the boys was hurt.

Ishida stepped down from the ladder with the longsuffering expression of someone utterly disenchanted with childishness.

Orihime looked up from her hilarity, to ‘ooh’ and ‘aw’ over the cavernous training room around them, winning Tessai’s eternal respect. Urahara led them away with an oddly pained look on his face from their moment. A smile, but twisted at the edges with something bitter.

With a snap of his fingers the portal appeared, sliding into place with a thunderous bang.

“Pay attention, I will now tell you how to travel through this gate without dying.”

Natsu practically drooled. How did he make it appear like that? Did it have something to do with the “space between worlds” that Hollows could hide in? If so, how do Shinigami manipulate it?

She busied herself with retying her shoes, so she missed Ichigo getting knocked out of his body. Her fingers itched to doodle on his body’s slack face, as Ishida inspected the body with fascination. Kon popping out to interrupt the good-natured teasing nearly gave her a heart attack. Then it was amusing to watch him squeal and squirm has Yasutora began to play with him.

“Children please,” Urahara called, “let me explain how the door works.”

Natsu whipped out her phone and clicked on the recorder as the shopkeeper began to explain the basics of the portal, which made very little sense without the theoretical grounding the man must have had. His explanation of needing to change their particles into reishi made her shift. Her head shot into the clouds while her phone recorded the conversation for review. What did that mean, really? Was reishi a different form of atom or just a shift in wavelength? The ability to manipulate spirit energy could affect the physical world easily as it did in Soul Society, why? Calculations and theories cluttered her head.

Natsu yelped when Yoruichi dragged her claws across her ankle.

“Of course we have to win!” Ichigo grunted eyes narrowed in a determined glare.

“Well said,” the cat acknowledged, eyes narrowing into an admonishing look at Natsu. The girl shrugged subtly.

The energy around them flared with determination.

“Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natsu pay attention!! You can figure out the science later.  
> I don't use beta. I die like a man.


	5. I See With My Blind Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta because I die in a pile of grammar and spelling mistakes like a fully realized gremlin.

 

The Dangai was a thousand times creepier than the low detail manga panels from her former life had led her to believe. The smell of bone dust drifted up from their feet as the dark, gooey miasma around them rippled. Her phone pinged an alert and then began ringing non-stop before she turned off her danger alert app. Note to self; make it more discerning. Yoruichi snapped at them to get moving towards the light at the end of the tunnel, contrary to every bit of advice Natsu had been given by her parents as a howling wind started up. Natsu felt the cold watery fear shrink her ribcage into something constrictive as the void presence of the cleaner roared at them in the distance. She ended up ahead of the pack by what felt like miles as Fleet Footing sent her flying. She barely paused for Ishida getting his ridiculous cape caught in the Dangai, having to be ripped out and carried by Yasutora, much to the bespectacled boy’s embarrassment. Her breath puffed out of her as the cleaner roared and everyone else began screaming. The light became brighter.

“ ** _I REJECT!”_**

She made it out and floated gracefully to the ground barely a second before the rest of the team rocketed out, driven by the force of Orihime repelling the dangerous cleaner and saving them all from certain death.

Natsu watched the streets around them as Orihime made fun of Ichigo’s landing position and Ishida pulled out an, _honest to God,_ extra cape to replace his old one.

_He didn’t even have a backpack._

All of Yoruichi’s fur bristled as she scolded Orihime, who took it with an airy attitude, barely fazed by taking the feline’s punishing head butt to the eye. The foolishness of her actions to save her friends was apparent, but Natsu wasn’t sure why the cat took the time to mention it. It was clearly the only option to ensure that everyone got out of the Dangai alive. Many mistook Orihime for ditzy and for the most part she was a dreamy kind of girl, but she never went out of her way to be ashamed of a decision that she thought was necessary. Natsu didn’t have the heart to tell the cat that Orihime had disrespect for authority that could put Ichigo to shame.

“Natsuki-chan, Yoruichi-san is bullying me!” Orihime whined playfully, tucking herself against her friend. The cat harrumphed. Natsu patted the girl on the head absently as she began taking pictures of the Rukongai with her phone as Yoruichi explained where they were.

When the wall came down and nearly crushed Ichigo’s rushing form and he picked a fight with the gate guardian she went straight to her Object Creation app and summoned a bangasa when the stones started flying. It appeared in a subtle flare of pixels, a useless flourish that Natsu had added simply because she thought it looked cool. She wandered up after Orihime and Yasutora’s running forms, stymied abruptly by the wall smashed into existence by the gatekeeper, taking a moment to pop a piece of gum in her mouth from her phone. It popped out of the casing with a click and burst with fruity flavor on her tongue. The sturdy umbrella she had summoned was programmed and imbued specifically to redirect force and energy, sheltering her and Orihime from the falling chunks of dirt and decorated with subtle golden lines of circuits. Jidanbo said something stupid about ‘rules’, which as a Maki she disregarded on principle.

Orihime clutched her hands to her chest worriedly as the boy on the other side of the rock wall asked her and Yasutora to stay away despite her offer to help.

Ishida’s voice rose as he began to argue with Ichigo.

“Don’t be a fool Ichigo! This isn’t the kind of enemy you can handle after only 10 days of training!”

Natsu blew a bubble, bright and yellow. It popped in a nova of glitter and an incongruous tinkling sound.

Ichigo’s reply of, “So noisy,” did nothing to soothe the irate Quincy.

“Can you fight?” Yasutora asked

“Possibly.”

Ishida nearly blew a gasket, face turning red as he yelled.

“What kind of situation do you think you’re in!”?

Ichigo informed them of his gain in power in the firm voice with which he did everything. Confidence flowed out like from a sieve, endless and undeniable. It was hard not to be comforted by his surety as he directed his attention to Jidanbo.

“I’m ready, bring it on!”

Then there was flying metal and masonry that bounced harmlessly off her bangasa as Ichigo thoroughly destroyed Jidanbo’s axes. Ishida took a bit of rock straight between the eyes, reluctant as he was to crowd under the cover of Natsu’s umbrella with the worried Orihime.

Natsu choked on a giggle as Orihime leaned over to check on the boy. Yasutora barely looked away from the obscured view Jidanbo’s flailing.

She barely paid it any attention when the gatekeeper started wailing about his axes, focused on keeping the video in focus as her phone recorded the ‘battle’. The status bars on the spirit energy analysis showed fast progress, no glitches or troubles as it began building a basic profile on Jidanbo. She didn’t bother trying to focus on Ichigo, not eager to test the beta version of her programming on the singular bit of improbability that was the substitute Shinigami.

It really went in to overdrive when the smiling form of Ichimaru Gin appeared from behind the opened gate and sliced off Jidanbo’s arm with a witty remark about execution. Natsu clutched Orihime closer, and turned her bangasa to catch the splatter of blood as the arm went flying onto the roof of a nearby house. Ichigo, being Ichigo, tried to fight the guy despite Yoruichi’s warning.

Then the captian said the words “Shoot him, Shinsou.”

Then Ichigo was flying, Zangetsu barely catching the point of Ichimaru’s extended zanpakutou.

With a heave of breath, Natsu blew a gum bubble that rapidly expanded. It caught the rocketing forms of Ichigo and poor Jidanbo before they could pass and stayed in place even as they stretched the gummy bubble to its limit. It bounced them gently to the ground before popping with a tinkling ring.

Gum Pop was the name of the app that produced the bubble. She had programmed four different kinds of gum that performed certain tasks when blown into a bubble and filled with spirit energy. Unfortunately, she could only produce one at a time and they couldn’t be reused once they expanded. Even as she walked forward to check on the two men, twirling her umbrella, the remnants of her creation were fizzling out of existence. The Pineapple Power gum was meant to take and disseminate force, helpful when you where dropping from height or needed to catch something heavy. The upper limit of its ability to catch without collapsing was a few tons, so it was mostly useless at blocking attacks from Shinigami who primarily used edged weapons besides being able to blow holes in steel with relative ease.

“Bye~Bye~,” Ichimaru mocked, leaning down to wave at them as the gate fell closed. Natsu held up a finger in demonstration of her thoughts on his condescending attitude.

“Kurosaki-kun!” Orihime cried as she ran towards him, worried for her knight in shining armor.

Ichigo twitched.

“That hurt!”

Ishida jumped back from the yell as Ichigo jackknifed into sitting position.

“That damned punk! What is he? Was he trying to kill me?”

 _No, otherwise you’d be dead._ Natsu thought with a roll of her eyes. Captain-class Shinigami were so far beyond Ichigo at this point it wasn’t even funny. The only reason she had so many apps primed for getaway and versatility was the fact that she _knew_ any battle she had to fight would be her running the other way.

Or assassination, but that was a last resort since they were supposed to make friends with the Gotei 13 by the end of everything.

“He seems lively…” Orihime muttered, relieved.

“One has to wonder where he gets that confidence,” Natsu murmured back, twirling her umbrella and offering Ishida an innocent look when he turned to her with sharp eyes.

“Safety first Ichigo,” Yoruichi admonished as she slinked over, he fur was still relaxing from her stress at trying to curb Ichigo’s enthusiasm earlier.

Ichigo sat up more fully, expression softening to something contrite.

“Sorry, because of me the gate…”

Yoruichi flicked her tail.

“Don’t worry about it, even if you got through, that was Ichimaru. You still would have been thrown out or worse, you’re lucky you’re not injured.”

There was shuffling sound as the Rukongai residents came out of their shelters and Shibata, the talking parakeet boy came running up to Yasutora. Natsu stayed back from the cheerful reunion, retreating to stand by Orihime as she used her powers and the help of the locals to begin reattaching Jidanbo’s arm. The orange glow of the dome created by her powers was warm and just being near it leached some tension from Natsu’s back. She shielded herself from the sun with her umbrella and leaned on Jidanbo’s shoulder next to Orihime, phone snapping pictures of the local wildlife and adding the people around her to her directory. Reiryoku and other analysis were tucked away in a folder for further study later. Ichigo and the other boys talked with the villagers, all of whom were male, not a woman in sight.

Suspicious.

The sun traveled across the sky.

Orihime remained focused on her healing, but her eyes wandered to her friend’s indolent form.

“That was really cool, with the bubble.”

Natsu looked up from her phone.

“I have more, but that one seemed like it would work better,” she shrugged.

“Can you do more stuff Natsuki-chan? I thought you could only fly and run with those wings.”

Natsu tilted her umbrella and turned her phone so Orihime could see the screen full of colorful apps.

“I haven’t gotten to test all of them and some of them are just prototypes, but I spent a lot of time designing stuff to help us out.”

Orihime peered curiously, eyes bright.

“That’s so cool!”

Natsu felt a slight puff of pride. To be honest she’d been feeling a little overlooked with Ichigo’s casual acceptance of her powers and Ishida’s overly suspicious looks.

“You were super prepared for everything Natsuki-chan, you weren’t—you didn’t even get worried when Ichigo was attacked.”

Natsu narrowed her eyes, zeroing in on the stutter and Orihime’s shadowed gaze.

“You could have helped for sure, right?”

Orihime’s hands tensed in their open-palmed position, maintaining her healing bubble.

“Ichigo didn’t want help,” Natsu said.

“But you could have—if you wanted too?”

Natsu hummed an affirmative and stared into the distance, taking in the swaying grasses barely visible beyond the alleys and streets of the Rukongai. It would have been pointless to try even if she had somehow neutralized Jidanbo, which she could have, it would have all ended the same. Only Ichigo would be scowling and stomping around with a bunch of hurt pride.

Natsu turned her camera on her friend, the orange glow of her power softening the lines of her face and shadowing her expression into something tragic and contemplative. She was only thoughtful, but lighting and angle could do a lot to a picture, Natsu thought with a slight grin.

Orihime became quiet again.

“I didn’t help, not in the moment. I had to sit back and watch. Like back when we faced those Hollows and we split up.”

Natsu sat up straighter.

“Orihime-chan…”

“You weren’t even worried and you always think ahead—I just—I wish I could have done more. What if I’m no help in the future?”

“I wanted to do this to rescue Rukia and protect Kurosaki-kun, but we’re barely out the door and I haven’t been able to do anything.”

Orihime looked vulnerable, eyes glassy but determined. It hadn’t occurred to Natsu that the girl would still be holding on to what happened at school, or that something as simple as this would be a stumbling block for her.

“Orihime do you realize what you’re doing right now?”

The girl looked up startled.

“What?”

Natsu smirked and poked the girl in the nose, causing her to flinch slightly and snuffle.

“You’re in the process of _reattaching a man’s arm._ Nobody would have survived the Dangai—”, “except you,” “—except me if it weren’t for you.”

Orihime offered a slightly empty smile, not comforted by the reassurance. Natsu blew a breath through her nose.

“If it’s tripping you up so bad why are you just sitting here whining about it? You could have done plenty, you could have turned those axes to dust with Tsubaki, blocked the guy’s blows with your shield but you stopped because _Kurosaki-kun_ wanted to be a show-off.”            

“But—”

“No buts, Orihime-chan. I have made it my business to be prepared because we are trying to rescue a girl from execution from what amounts to an advanced military state. If I had my way we would have snuck in and assassinated key figures in secret while destroying everything we could have of the infrastructure before making off with our tower-trapped princess.”

She placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“You are so much stronger than you let yourself be Orihime-chan,” something dark stirred in her gut as she said the next words, “but you allow other people to dictate your place to you. You have always cared, but Orihime-chan you’re _scared.”_

It was a flash of intuition. All of the behavior, how she rarely opened up to anyone, even Tatsuki, but started spilling her guts to Natsu the moment they had alone time. Natsu has never flinched, no matter what Orihime has admitted. Nothing the girl has said has ever fazed her, but in Orihime it became clear that the girl, beyond anything, was scared of losing the people around her. Scared of crossing a line and becoming unlikeable to them. Loneliness was a terrible thing.

“I’m not—Of course I’m scared! Anyone would be scared of everything and—,”

Natsu leaned forward until she was nearly nose-to-nose with her friend, who deliberately didn’t flinch.

“Orihime you aren’t _stupid._ You know that this will be difficult; the people here will try to _kill us_.”

She narrowed her eyes as Orihime expression became pugnacious.

“What are you going to do when Ichigo gets in a fight that you can end in a _moment_ if you helped and he tells you to stay out of it. What would you do?”

Orihime’s gaze flickered from Natsu’s eyes, expression turning pensive.

“I—Kurosaki-kun has his pride, I could trust him.”

Natsu bit down on a snarl, because _this,_ this is what drove her insane about Orihime. To give the girl credit, it wasn’t just Ichigo she’d let fight in a desperate situation if he asked. There were boundaries that someone shouldn’t cross as a friend, but being afraid of hurting someone because it might damage a friend’s _pride_ was nearly beyond Natsu’s ability to comprehend. Not only that Orihime was intelligent, she knew exactly the image the rest of her friend’s had of her. It showed so well in her powers. The Shield, Heal, and lastly her Sword. A part of Orihime was _willing_ to hurt people, willing to do damage to protect the people and things she loved. Tsubaki was, in Natsu’s opinion, a suitable representation of the viciousness that could rise from Orihime on occasion.

She censored herself in front of the boys, even in front of Tatsuki and her reluctance to attack not only stemmed from her better nature but also from her fear that if she wasn’t the princess they wanted her to be they wouldn’t be her friends anymore.

It was foolish in Natsu’s opinion, but it was a real worry for the girl.

“What makes a better friend Orihime? Someone who would let someone struggle in pain? Or someone who would save their friend even if it _upset_ them?”

“That’s not, I guess the person who saves them. I don’t want to hurt _people,_ though.”

Natsu slumped back, knocking her umbrella to the side.

“It’s entirely okay not to want to hurt people Orihime, but eventually you _will._ When someone comes at you with the intent to kill you aren’t going to _have_ the luxury of not coming back at them with the same intent unless you have a strategy to run.”

Orihime looked at Natsu with wide eyes, gaze bright and intent. Her hands trembled slightly with exhaustion, but her Shun Shun Rikka seemed to show brighter than ever.

“You’re not going to offer to protect me?” Orihime asked in a moment of rare unabashed sarcasm.

Natsu snorted and rolled so she could lay down more comfortable and set up her bangasa to shade her face more comfortably.

“Why would I do that? You have to stand on your own ground. I’ll be here for you to lean on, but I’m not going to make myself the pillar you stand on.”

Orihime giggled.

“Natsuki-chan is such a charming prince!”

Natsu huffed incredulously.

“What the heck’s that supposed to mean?” she laughed.

Orihime shook her head and focused on her healing once again.

“It means what it means,” she hummed, mood restored as Natsu lay her head on her arms and shut her eyes on the encroaching twilight. She fell asleep to the sound of her friend singing softly into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot remember at any point of the manga or anime, anyone ever telling Orihime, amongst her friends at least, that she will have to fight. I love gentle characters and I do believe in Orihime being a character that doesn't like to fight in general but Natsu will protect her friends but she also knows that no matter her intentions or effort she can;t be everywhere at once. Orihime appreciates the fact that Natsu doesn;t make sweeping declarations about protecting her and fully believes that she is capable of taking care of herself and fighting back. It's something no one else has done for her before, at least in my version of the story.


	6. Slap-stick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back with another thrilling chapter of filler! For reasons! Mostly to set-up for future chapters!  
> Enjoy!!!!!

“Natsuki-chan, wake up.”

Natsu snorted awake with a groan. She clutched her pillow closer and nuzzled into it.

A giggle.

“Natsuki-chan I can’t move with you on my leg.”

“The’ don’ move,” she slurred.

“Maki, its late, Inoue needs rest.”

“Go ‘way Kurosa’i,” she scowled sleepily.

Orihime laughed and slapped the side of Natsu’s head with no hesitation.

The girl yowled.

“What was that for?” she yelled, leaping to her feet and rubbing dramatically at her stinging skull.

Only the flicker of torches lit the night, the fire casting a dreamy glow over everything along with the blurred sight of the newly awake. Ichigo scowled, arms crossed as Orihime stood, stretching her arms over her head with a smile.

“Natsuki-chan is always bratty when she wakes up,” Orihime informed Ichigo easily, “you have to be strict.”

She made a demonstrative chopping motion at the substitute, who smirked, amused. Natsu huffed and picked up her umbrella, closing it and swinging it over her shoulder. She took a moment to check her phone from the holster on her leg, smiling at the complete progress bar for environmental analysis.

“You’re so mean,” she whined at the Orihime as she tucked her face against the girl’s shoulder. She shivered slightly from the chill of the night and sighed sleepily, still drowsy.

“What are you? A kid?” Ichigo teased.

Natsu waved him off as they began walking towards the hut where everyone else was. The villagers crowded around the resting form of Jidanbo as they left, muttering dreamily about Orihime as they passed.

Natsu rolled her eyes.

“Thanks.”

Natsu startled, turning her gaze to Ichigo.

“For earlier, with the bubble thing. I was caught up, but—thanks for the save.”

Natsu smirked.

“You’re welcome.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes at her smug tone, but refrained from commenting.

When they got to the hut Natsu casually pushed Orihime away with a playful huff and, disregarding the scandalized looks of the watching elder and villagers, flopped into Yasutora’s lap. To the boy’s credit, he didn’t flinch, lips twitching as she made herself comfortable. It wasn’t unusual for her to seek out skinship. Despite his stoic nature Yasutora was nearly as touchy as she was, riding on memories of his Abuelo and his affectionate kisses and warm hugs. Ichigo shook his head while Ishida adjusted his glasses, ears red. Orihime pouted and stuck her tongue out at the other girl before Yoruichi called their wandering attention.

Natsu scrolled through her phone and ignored the cat’s lecture about the four gates and request for the location of Kukaku Shiba. Yoruichi didn’t reprimand her but her tail lashed like a black whip at her disregard. Natsu eyed the limb, lips curled with an edge of mischief that she carefully disguised. She didn’t get along well with Yoruichi, not only because of her rough approach to their training, but also for her need to hide relevant information from them all.

Ichigo’s failed run for the gates of Seireitei could have been avoided entirely if the woman had taken the time to lay down a landing strategy before they even left. The key to a good con lay in the expertise of the artist involved, even on a time-limit making sure the team was on the same page was vital.

Natsu could forgive the former captain her behavior though. It seemed that she had no experience herding a team of teenagers, powerful as they were, and her tenure as the head of Onmitsukido entailed leading Black Ops forces that were experienced military. The whole rescue operation of Rukia was more like a heist than anything, but the cat was making the mistake of falling into old habits. She was thinking like a commander of experienced military operatives instead of the focal point of information for a group of extremely varied talents and personalities.

Natsu figured she’d let everything be, it would be more trouble to make the attempt to challenge the cat rather than work around her. It would all come down to making sure they didn’t separate when entering Seireitei.

Aizen was already hip deep in his final machinations to retrieve the Hogyoku from Rukia, so regardless of everything, convincing the Gotei 13 of their own relative innocence would be manageable if they went for weak links like Ukitake. The comics had made him seem uncommonly sentimental and having someone so extremely powerful and ready to stand up for them would be vital even if they didn’t end up impressing the other Shinigami like in the original run.

Then Ganju came flying through the door.

Natsu squeaked and fumbled her phone, losing her place in Flappy Bird. Then it was a bunch of yelling and general tomfoolery as she wiped away a single tear at the sight of her score. Ganju and Ichigo began arguing over the man’s self-proclaimed ‘titles’ before one of them threw a punch. Probably Ichigo, but Natsu wasn’t paying attention, too busy staring mournfully at her score.

Two points away from beating her record.

Ichigo and Ganju went flying back out the door with a crash, truly destroying any hopes of repair.

Yasutora patted her on the back sympathetically as she sniffled, before lifting her from his lap to grab Ichigo’s sword and follow the sounds of fighting. Natsu pouted and flopped onto her side to start a new game, swiping away another notification for a complete analysis. There was a sound like an alarm clock before what sounded like a stampede started up and fled away from the house. There was some more yelling involved and Ichigo came back in with bruises on his hands and a scowl so deep it could be a new landmark.

“What an asshole,” he snapped, bandages going to wrap around Zangetsu automatically, once again shielding the mishmash of clashing white and black code that made up its being.

Natsu wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole, let alone look at it for too long willingly. Nothing about it was smooth or orderly like Ishida’s white blue script or Yasutora’s blocky numbers. It was somehow indicative of Ichigo’s ridiculous potential for growth, Natsu suspected, but to her it just looked painful. A bonsai tree untended, left to curl in on itself and twist into a choking grasp on its own limbs. Urahara’s training must have trimmed it down and settled it slightly, because even as she turned her gaze away she caught glimpse of unraveling tangles; edges white-hot like the remnants of worked metal.

“ _You_ were the one that punched him,” Ishida sniffed, rolling his eyes.

Orihime giggled.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Kurosaki-kun do karate.”

“That skill…” Yasutora rumbled, looking contemplative.

Natsu perked up, standing.

“Skill? What skill? What happened?”

Ichigo stuck his tongue out.

“You’d know if you came out to watch instead of being glued to your mini-computer thing.”

Natsu huffed and pointed said piece of technology at him. Her thumb tapped on a quick-key for her Object Creation. Ichigo yelped as a metal water pan fell on his head, rolling on the floor and clutching his hair as Orihime brought out her Shun Shun Rikka and shot Natsu an admonishing frown. The pan dissolved into fading code as Natsu spoke.

“I’m not here to be sassed for not wanting to watch a bunch of testosterone poisoned idiots swing their dicks around.”

Ishida choked on a strangled laugh, covering his mouth as his shoulders shook.

“Holy shit Maki-san,” he gargled.

Ichigo popped into sitting position, murder in his eyes.

“You wanna fuckin’ go you—,”

“ _Children.”_

They all quieted at Yoruichi’s yowl. Natsu stepped back, tucking her tongue back into her mouth and ceasing her mocking waves. Yasutora straightened from where he was getting ready to pin Ichigo to prevent the fight.

“I am not your parent, but so help me _I will put you both in time out and you won’t like how I do it,”_

The cat’s claws flashed menacingly while her aura flared with killing intent.

Natsu leapt behind Ishida with a yelped, “Yes Mother!” while Ichigo went pale.

Yoruichi glared at the girl as sweat gathered at the back of her neck at the slip.

“I respect my Mom so much she’s super strong and owns it and it was a slip _pleasedon’thurtme,”_ she whimpered, having intense Technicolor flashbacks to her training and just how painful those claws were.

“Never you mind—if you’re all going to act like children I will treat you as such. Time for bed. _Now.”_

They were all in sleeping pads with the candles killed in minutes. Yoruichi stalked off into the night to leave them and let off steam.

It was silent for a few minutes.

“Wow,” Natsu said to the ceiling.

Orihime finally began cackling, crying under the intensity of her withheld hilarity.

“Your—your _face,_ it was like—like, _omygod_ my _ribs,”_ she wheezed.

Yasutora let out a quiet chuckle as Ichigo let out an amused huff.

Ishida shifted on his side of the room as the laughter died down. It was split right down the middle seeing as the villagers didn’t have much free room, the boys grouped near one wall and Orihime and Natsu at the other.

“What was that Maki-san? With the pan and your umbrella, it just came out of thin air,” he asked.

Natsu blinked at the ceiling wondering how she should explain it.

“My phone lets me do stuff like create things, lots of useful stuff like the wings that let me fly and stuff,” she shrugged, not caring if the explanation was lazy, she didn’t want to explain the particulars to _anyone_. You never knew who was listening.

“That’s such a cheat power,” Ichigo scoffed, still a little sour from earlier, “you don’t even have to fight, you could just drop a building on someone.”

Natsu turned on her side and pillowed her head in her arm, staring at the spot of color that was Ichigo’s orange hair, washed pale in the moonlight.

“Maybe if I had as much power as you, I could, but it doesn’t work that way. To Create Objects and use the apps on my phone I have to give a certain amount of energy—the bigger the task or object, the more energy I use,” she explain wryly.

Her Gum Pop and Modified Object inside the Creation app in her phone were made specifically to get around those restrictions; versatility in place of brute force. It wasn’t that she _couldn’t_ write the programs for some reality destroying stuff, but going with the analogy, she didn’t have the processing power to run those kinds of systems. Flashy and showy skills ate up her power faster than anything.

Ichigo turned to catch her eye, frown relaxing slightly at her solemn look. She hoped he got the message, even if she knew he’d take it the utterly wrong way and try and protect her like he did Orihime. Natsu couldn’t be relied on to fight opponents stronger than her, he needed to know that.

“So don’t expect me to pull something out of my hat,” she joked, laying back and pulling her blanket up, ready to sleep.

“Go to sleep,” Orihime called into the room, squirming over to Natsu and wrapping around her like a koala. Natsu giggled and struggled playfully before settling.

Silence.

“I’m totally waiting for that asshole Ganju to teach him a lesson,” Ichigo told the ceiling.

Yasutora threw a pillow at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can and will continue to write our group like a bunch of Teenagers™, cuz that's what they are even if theyre shoved into terrible situations. Ichigo and Natsu still don't get along, so the Soul Society arc is going to be freaking hilarious, just you wait.


	7. Serial Killer Sighs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllloooooo, Im back for a bit! Sorry for the gap in posting but you would not believe how busy school and work have been lately. This chapter is where Natsu begins her mantra of 'oh fuck' and never stops.

 

 

They really did have to drag Ichigo out in the morning. It largely failed until Yoruichi dragged her claws over his nose and scolded him. Natsu recorded the whole thing while rubbing the patch of drool on her shirt. Orihime was a complete octopus when she slept and had been softly snoring from the pollen in the air, leading to a frankly disgusting amount of drool.

Natsu had thrown her to the other side of the bed with a nauseated screech first thing when she woke up, shuddering at the cling of wet clothing as the sense memory of bloody cloth shot down her spine. Orihime had hissed like an animal in reply before bundling herself up in her blankets and rolling over.

Neither of them were morning people.

The whole byplay ended up waking Ishida, as nothing short of an earthquake or an alarm clock could disturb Yasutora and Ichigo apparently only woke up for physical attacks.

She and Ishida washed their faces with water from a pot outside while Yoruichi strutted into the room to wake the rest of their party 15 minutes later.

Then Ichigo refused to leave despite Ishida trying to drag him out the door, leading to Yoruichi’s lecture and Ichigo scowling as he walked with the group with lines etched in red and scabbing across his nose.

Natsu sighed and tugged at her shorts.

“I need a change of clothes.”

Orihime nodded, falling back to walk beside the other girl. She kicked a rock off the path they were following. A pair of rabbits took off across the open grassland around them.

“Yeah,” she hummed, “I didn’t think to pack anything either,” then her face looked faintly alarmed, “what if we’re here more than a week?”

Natsu furrowed her brow, puzzled by the relevance of the amount of time until she noticed the red on the tips of the other girl’s ears and how her hands clenched the fabric of her pants near her hips.

“Oh,” she whispered and slightly alarmed, “aren’t you on birth control?”

Orihime leaned over as they fell farther behind.

“No!” she whispered-yelled, “I mean—I don’t—I’m scheduled for next week.”

Natsu shook her head, dismissing her own alarm. They were making a big thing out of nothing.

“It doesn’t matter,” she held up her phone, “I was about to get a change of clothes anyway, if we need it I can probably make some,” she cast a glance at the backs of the boys, Ichigo was saying something to Yasutora and gesturing to the other boy’s arm, “ _y’know.”_

Orihime’s face flooded with relief, before turning into interest.

“You have some clothes? Do you have extra?”

Natsu stared at the other girl flatly and gave her an obvious once over.

Orihime huffed and shoved her arm.

“All the stuff you like to wear is oversized Natsu-chan, I’m sure it could fit,” she paused, thinking, before smirking slyly, “maybe.”

Natsu stuck her tongue out at the other girl playfully and began scrolling for her app.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” she muttered, “I’m magic.”

Orihime giggled and pushed closer, wrapping her hands around Natsu’s waist forcing them into an even slower walk as they adjusted their pace. Ishida glanced back at them with a frown, but didn’t call out.

She tapped a white square with a pink dress. Underneath was the English word: Dressmaker.

Technically it worked like her Object Creation, but she had separated them so she didn’t end up cluttering the other app with useless inventory. One of them was for battle the other for play and disguise.

More play than anything.

She was too embarrassed to admit how many cosplay outfits she’d created before installing an actual wardrobe. Many of her apps were created on energy drink fueled coding binges and she could only be serious and make viable combat apps for so long before she got distracted, so sue her. She even had and app that let her display emojis over her own head and a few other embarrassing prototypes that she was determined to never explain to _anyone._ Dressmaker worked by inputting the model measurements and picking a preset piece of clothing or outfit and then clicking the button and _bam,_ instant wardrobe change.

She didn’t have an instant shower app, however, so she’d just have to deal with the dirt until they got to the Shiba house.

“What d’you wanna wear?” Natsu asked absently as she began to scroll, “I got a few skirts and some sports shorts to wear under them if you want, a few dresses too.”

She tilted the screen away from Orihime’s wandering eyes, hurriedly scrolling past an EVA suit and a full rendition of Vash the Stampede’s outfit, buckles and all.

“Wait!” Orihime laughed, “was that Ichigo? From Tokyo Mew Mew? Do you have Zakuro?”

Natsu blushed all the way to her toes.

“No!” she snapped, suddenly trying to squirm away from Orihime’s grasping hands as the other girl tried grab her phone, “Orihime, _stop!”_

She did, in fact, have a Zakuro cosplay as well as Sailor Pluto. Her cartoon crushes had remained utterly consistent even more than a decade and one death later.

Natsu squeaked as she slipped on a rock, grabbing at her friend’s shirt to maintain balance only to pull the other girl over as they fell off the path in a tangle of limbs and screaming. The ditch wasn’t too deep and it was covered in lush grass besides, so no harm was done. While Natsu was dazed, Orihime capitalized on her opportunity to snatch her phone and sprint up the path to the dismayed forms of Yoruichi and the boys.

“ _You do!_ Wait, why won’t the screen move?”

The girl tapped at the screen as Natsu rose from her grassy grave, doom settling over her shoulders as Ichigo and Ishida leaned in to look at the screen in Orihime’s hands. Yasutora simply loomed, easily able to see the phone from his vantage point.

“Is that a Princess Tutu cosplay?” Ichigo asked, smirk growing.

Natsu pointed a finger at him accusingly as she walked up, righteous fury burning in her chest.

“Yes, but how would _you_ know tough guy?”

He gave her a flat look.

“I have two little sisters,”

Natsu let her arm go limp, defeated.

“Fair.”

His smirk grew as he continued,

“I also think the show is badass.”

That startled a laugh from her and a wide-eyed look from Ishida.

“You enjoy that drivel?”

Yoruichi sighed as the group stopped walking, resigned to the inevitable.

Natsu snatched her phone from Orihime as Ichigo began to argue that the medium had no consequence on a good story. Ishida begged to differ. It eventually degenerated into Ichigo ranting about Shakespeare and the man’s literary genius.

Nerd.

Ishida let the other boy talk, eyes a little wild at the passion behind the Substitute Shinigami’s speech. The Quincy shouldn’t have let him get started, Yasutora has told her horror stories of talks lasting hours when Ichigo got really into the history of the plays.

She’s pretty sure Ichigo was going to end up with some kind of literary degree when he hit college. You don’t find that kind of passion for books and media and _not_ become a theatre major or something. She smiled to herself as she finally hit the normal clothes section of her app.

Yasutora leaned over Natsu as she began scrolling past her more frivolous creations; Orihime tucked her hand into his elbow as she leaned in as well. Natsu scowled and pushed her face away.

The little thief.

“You lost phone privileges.”

The girl rolled her eyes and pinched Natsu’s hip. The smaller girl yelped.

“Do you have any men’s clothes?” Yasutora asked, ignoring Yoruichi as the cat leapt up to his shoulder to get her own look at the selection. His eyes were bright with interest and he picked at the edge of his stained shirt. Natsu forced herself not to let her gaze catch on the flex of his biceps.

“Yeah, right here. See?”

It was mostly formal wear, because Natsu liked smart suits more than anything, but there were a few graphic shirts and pants. Yasutora nodded and began looking around. Orihime put his thought to words,

“Where are we going to change?”

Natsu shrugged absently, clicking a few articles to a different box for testing.

“No need, I click and the clothes appear on you.”

Yasutora perked up a little.

“And our clothes?”

“It pops them into a sub-space pocket for storage until I bring them out again, my creations deconstruct or store based on my needs at the time. It also has a wash feature so, if you want, we can just do a change and then pop your clothes back on, fresh.”

Ichigo came by to peer at the selection.

“Damn Maki, you really can do anything. You think I can get a different outfit?”

“I would not object to a cleaning for my uniform,” Ishida added, adjusting his glasses.

Yoruichi’s tail lashed.

“You may not change clothes Ichigo, a shinigami uniform is extremely useful for what we want to do,” she narrowed her gaze on Natsu like the whole thing was her fault. It was, but _still,_ “All of you really don’t need to take the time for this, you can all get clean at Kukaku’s house,” she sighed.

They all looked up, eyes meeting as they all contemplated the offer.

“We could take baths at Shiba-san’s house and then clean our outfits,” Ishida suggested, gathering some nods of agreement.

The cat sighed in obvious relief as they resumed walking.

Ichigo ended up looking a little mulish about Yoruichi’s order. Natsu felt some sympathy for the guy. For someone who wore the tightest shirts and jeans he could manage when he was on his own time the billowy fabric of the shinigami uniform must drive him crazy.

“Why is this place so far from the village anyway?” he asked.

Natsu and Yasutora didn’t look up from where they were picking out clothes on her phone.

“It _is_ kind of weird,” Orihime said, finger on her chin in a thinking pose, “If Shiba-san is so famous why wouldn’t they stick closer to the village?”

Yoruichi swished her tail dismissively and jumped to the ground.

“It doesn’t match Kukaku’s personality, they like solitude,” she hummed, “Kukaku can be a little loud with their experiments.”

Natsu perked up.

“Experiments?”

Yoruichi ignored her.

“I can pick out their house easily, even with this kind of map, see?”

She flicked her ears in the direction off the path.

Natsu felt her jaw drop as she took in the gaudy monstrosity of Kukaku’s home. The lopsided, colorful roofing, the add-ons that didn’t match the style of the main housing, small pinwheels and mechanical wind vanes spat puffs of smoke into the air with no discernable purpose. Small patches of grass were burned away around the building and one side of the house had sunk on its struts partway into a sandpit. The cannon stood tall in the back, etched with swirling symbols and splashed with color.

It was magnificent in it’s own ugly way.

The arms were just…there, grey and disturbingly muscular, filling her with an unknown sense of dread.

There was a click as she brought up her phone to take a picture.

“Wow,” Orihime said, eyes sparkling, “Shiba-san has a great sense of style.”

Ichigo and Ishida jerked around to stare at the girl. Natsu muffled a snicker in her hand, while Yasutora smiled indulgently.

“It certainly is… _unique,”_ she said.

Ichigo shook his head, face set into a look of ‘ _these people are crazy’_ before following their feline guide to the entrance.

As they encountered the nearly identical gatekeepers and were let in as being ‘Yoruichi-dono’s’ friends a persistent chill crawled down Natsu’s spine. It lingered as they opened the door to the basement and one of the men grabbed a torch, the light looking nearly sticklike in his meaty grip.

The house was different.

Tite Kubo had a minimalist style that focused more on character design than backdrop and she had long accepted that a story in a comic couldn’t _really_ capture the fullness of life. It could just be that the artist needed to draw the house simply, without bothering with the complicated details that gave it life. It could also be that her guidelines were even _more_ inaccurate than she had been led to think.

The middle of the grey, stone steps was worn from thousands of feet. Hadn’t Yoruichi said Kukaku moved around a lot?

She shuffled her plans in her head. She always kept the possibility close in mind, that the comic wasn’t reliable except for the bare bones. She couldn’t use any of the character assessments, only the sure illustrations of their pasts. Never rely on the events to happen exactly, such and so forth. But this made her think that she was more than missing some information, she was going to have to throw out her entire plot guideline if even the _background_ was inaccurate.

Just before a door their guide whipped the torch professionally as a fire-dancer and extinguished it. He set it in a small barrel and opened the metal slab with a faint squeak. It looked heavy and Natsu’s gaze caught on the etchings near the hinges, glittering and sparking with active code. It burned in her gaze, sleepy, with threat under the haze.

When they reached the bottom of the new set of wooden stairs the ceiling was lit with what seemed to be faint electric light. In the alcoves of the ceiling the bulbs glowed and when Natsu examined them closely, making sure to analyze them with her phone, she saw leaves cupping the base and a tangle of vines peeking out of the ceiling.

**Light…frui…eng…C 6H12O… **said the window that popped up near it, text streaming faster than she could read.

She left the decoding to her phone.

“Electricity?” Ishida asked, following her gaze.

“Light vines,” the remaining guard answered as his colleague jogged ahead, “we’ve planted them in the walls since we don’t bring fire to the lower level.”

“Is that you Koganehiko?” a rough voice rasped from beyond the rice paper doors dominating the hall.

The guard that had run ahead startled.

“A-ah yes!”

“It seems we have an interesting guest, let them in!”

The man opened the doors hurriedly, slamming the wood out of the way before standing straight-backed as a queen’s guard and presenting them to the room.

On a pile of mismatched rugs and down pillows lounged Kukaku Shiba, her outfit wasn’t near as revealing as Natsu thought it would be, and much more colorful besides.

Her red top was cinched over her chest with pins and flattened by a black leather apron. Her pants were golden and embroidered with leaping Koi in various colors, tucked into thick white socks. Smoke trailed from the elegant pipe in her hand, whirling into odd shapes as it escaped into the air. For a second Natsu glimpsed a silhouette peering from the smoke with empty eyes, before it disappeared like it had never been.

“Long time no see, Yoruichi!”

“Kukaku Shiba is a woman?” her friends all screamed in unison, in various tones ranging from delighted (Orihime) to surprise (Ichigo and Ishida). Yasutora gaped soundlessly, which might as well have been a yell from him.

The women ignored them.

“I’ve come to ask for a favor,” the cat said, stepping forward to sit primly before the bomb maker.

Kukaku’s lips twitched as she leaned forward, her prosthetic clicking as she set it on her knee.

“Isn’t it always with you?” there was a faint bitterness there as she blew out a cloud of smoke, “How complicated?”

Yoruichi narrowed her eyes.

“Very.”

A demonic grin curled on Kukaku’s features.

“My favorite, start talking.”

They all took a seat as Yoruichi explained their situation and mission. Kukaku remained impassive through it all until they mentioned Rukia and what she did. Her reiatsu popped and simmered like a firework and Ishida’s fingers twitched for his weapon. Orihime felt it too and it made the girl lean forward just a bit, interested, while Natsu watched, trying to judge the woman’s true character.

In the end the bomb maker’s gaze lingered on Ichigo like a brand, the boy straightening to glare back.

Kukaku puffed out a cloud of smoke.

“I think I get it, I’ll help you out,” she said, dark gaze running over them all, “If Urahara’s involved I guess I can’t really say no, but I don’t trust these kid’s like I do you Yoruichi, so I’m sending one of my men with you.”

Yoruichi’s ears flicked.

“That’s acceptable.”

“Your man?” Ichigo asked.

Natsu felt almost dizzy with the byplay. She had thought the two women were friends, but there was something wild and burning in the way Kukaku looked at them. Hateful or just angry, backed into a corner, almost. It made the hair on the back of Natsu’s neck stand on end, and it made her feel the weight of the dirt between her and the open air.

“My little brother,” Kukaku smirked, “he’s a bit of a punk and has a lot to learn.”

Natsu couldn’t help her eyes wandering to the writing dripping down the walls around them. The supposedly bare room confirmed when she had leaned over and asked Yasutora what he saw, was _covered_ in spells. It looked hostile and defensive and it all led back to the bomb maker, viciousness seething from her smile and barely restrained poison on her breath. The tattoo on her arm _writhed_ under Natsu’s gaze, small crowded lines of text making it appear like a solid design.

It could only be her ability to see coding that let her glimpse the nature of the room they were sitting in, death threatening from the very floor beneath their feet.

Cold sweat dripped down her back as the woman rose languidly to her feet, the spells on the walls moving under her steps as she moved to open a door to a side room.

“You ready?” she asked whoever waited.

“Wait no! Not yet,” they answered.

Kukaku blew out an annoyed breath.

“I’m opening the door, be courteous to our guests!”

Shuffling.

“O-okay, yeah.”

The door slid on its track, revealing a man on his knees, smiling widely.

“Hello! I’m Ganju Shiba, pleased to meet you.”

Natsu felt the pressure rise as he and Ichigo caught a glimpse of each other and started screaming. She let her shoulders droop and leaned into Yasutora as Kukaku asked if they knew each other.

This was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahhhhhhhh, so that happened. swear I didn't plan to do that, but Kukaku is a badass and I'm starting to introduce a concept that Kubo let fall into the wayside in later chapters. Pure power is not always a match for preparation and versatility, and Kukaku has that in spades.


	8. Geology Confessor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension rises and Natsu gets progressively more Done with Yoruichi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it's been a hectic few months with a lot of bad news and good news. Sorry for taking so long.

 

“ _Shut the hell up!”_

The sound of fist and foot meeting skull echoed loudly in the large sitting room, barely muffled by the tatami mats. Merciful silence followed, absent of the screaming of Ganju and Ichigo about to go for each other’s throats.

Natsu snickered into her hand, before whipping away from Ichigo’s enraged glare, trying not to provoke him. The boy seemed to decide it was more trouble than it was worth to pick a fight and turned to Ganju.

“Your sister is scary,” he said, rubbing his sore skull.

Ganju ignored the shinigami.

“But—but Nee—,” he choked out around the knife hand that made its way into his neck. He fell over with a pained moan.

“Don’t question me,” Kukaku snapped, before stomping in Ichigo’s direction. Which was coincidentally in Natsu’s direction.

The girl found herself hiding behind Yasutora without even thinking about it. The lines of spells that slithered and crawled around Kukaku’s feet sent terrified ripples across her scalp.

“What the hell is wrong with you two anyway? You only just met,” she threw out as she crouched over Ichigo.

Kukaku closed a hand around a chunk of orange hair, pulling the boy to eye level. Yoruichi tensed, energy rising into a slight buzz. Natsu felt her own hackles rise.

Did the former captain really thing Kukaku would hurt Ichigo?

Why the hell had the damn cat brought them to the Shiba’s underground base then?

“This is my house—everything is by my rules. That means no fighting— _got it?_ ”

Ichigo paled.

“Y-yeah, sorry for the trouble,” he rasped.

Kukaku’s furious look turned suddenly bland and she let the boy drop.

“Good, as long as you understand that,” she whipped around to the rest of the group, “follow me!”

Everyone yelped out an affirmative as she strode out of the room.

“—Like _really_ scary,” Ichigo whispered to Ganju, as they shuffled to their feet.

“Yeah,” Ganju whimpered, rubbing his throat.

Natsu tangled her hand in Yasutora’s shirt, fingers aching, and followed the bomb-maker.

 

Ishida’s hesitant voice filled the hall.

“So, how do these light vines work?” he asked, gesturing to the shining alcoves in the ceiling. He grimaced at his own awkward demeanor as he straightened his cape.

Kukaku spared him a dismissive glance and kept walking, her flesh arm trailing her pipe over the walls. Under the rasp of metal on stone coding and letters pulsed, shifting out from under Natsu and her friend’s feet.

“Her place her rules,” Ichigo scoffed quietly, rolling his eyes at Ishida, who looked slightly red around the ears at being so easily dismissed.

“She’s pretty mean,” Orihime offered, frowning slightly at the woman’s back.

Yasutora nodded at the assessment.

Yoruichi lightly slapped her tail against the back of Yasutora’s head from her place on his shoulder.

“Don’t badmouth our host,” she admonished, casting an eye over the two guards following closely with their master and the quiet form of Ganju not far behind.

“This is Kukaku’s home and she has the right as its head to run it as she sees fit, we are at her mercy in our quest. Respect her.”

The comments subsided with minimal grumbling. Natsu agreed with the cat grudgingly, mostly under the realization that the situation they’d entered was far more dangerous than she initially expected.

Their position was tenuous, that was easy to tell just from the Shiba Head’s attitude, not only that but Natsu could see exactly how much mercy their host was having on them. The spells that leered from the walls glowed faintly with black menace, only parting at their host’s behest.

This was exactly the kind of information that Yoruichi should have prepped them with before they started the whole cockamamie mission.

Natsu gritted her teeth.

If she had been leading a grift of this scale with such terrible communication and planning her father would have ripped the whole thing from her in under a second. She didn’t even want to mention her mother’s displeasure.

It was obvious now that Yoruichi was determined to keep them in the dark and feed them shit regardless of how dangerous and untenable it was making their mission.

She let go of Yasutora and trotted forward to walk level with Kukaku. Yoruichi hissed, but she ducked away from her giant friend’s instinctive grab and Orihime’s questing fingers.

“Maki!” Ishida whispered.

Natsu skipped forward, sticking her tongue out at the cat snarling on her friend’s shoulder as she waved off the rest of their concern.

“Ah, Kukaku-san!” she called, hands clasped behind her.

The woman glanced at her, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge her.

Natsu was undeterred.

“Yoruichi says you move around a lot,” she bulled on, not bothering with an honorific for the cat, “that seems a little weird, seeing as everything around here looks a little aged.”

Natsu gestured to the walls and the sliding doors around them. Some stone crumbled as if to punctuate her point and a cloud of steam bellowed out from the holes in the paper of a door as they passed.

Ganju scowled and tried to shoo her away, failing as she just danced around his arm to his sister’s other side.

“Is it just me, though—” she continued, gesturing expansively, “or is your underground base _really_ big?”

Koganehiko weaved to avoid her enthusiasm.

Kukaku’s lips quirked into a smile after hearing Yoruichi hissing in outrage at Natsu’s insubordinate behavior.

Natsu smirked at the woman and raised one eyebrow as the bomb-maker chuckled at the cat’s distress. Natsu felt the calm of the grift settle in her bones. Kukaku didn’t like Yoruichi and Natsu had no problem driving into that crack with glee. She wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy for the cat herself. It wasn’t like the former captain was providing her with proper information, or even a thorough plan.

If the cat wasn’t going to plan their entry and security properly, Natsu would do it herself.

They stopped abruptly and Natsu squeaked as she nearly ran into on of the guards. Kukaku drew in a lungful of smoke and blew it at the door in front of them; the interlocking script crawled away from the reaching smoke.

“Open the door,” Kukaku called cheerfully, eyes glittering.

Ganju shouldered past Natsu.

“On it!”

Kukaku tapped Natsu under the chin with her pipe in passing.

“Remind me to tell you all about it later kid.”

Natsu felt a grin curl her lips as she rubbed at the cold spot left behind by the illogically cool metal.

“Welcome to the Shiba Cannon facility!” the woman called as she came to a stop in front of the gleaming metal of the ballistic invention that gave the room it’s name.

“Holy shit,” Ichigo muttered quietly, elbowing Yasutora, who slapped lightly at his arm with a faint excited grin.

Natsu smiled.

You could never take the childish glee of giant fireworks from teenagers; future and past tragedies be damned.

The round walls of the room were stacked high with hay-filled crates, tubular fireworks peeking out of the tops of a few boxes. Natsu peered curiously at the grate they were standing on, made of varying different metals and lending a glimpse of an endless pit of piping and gears under her feet.

“—fire you out of the cannon.”

Kukaku finished and then took a smug pull from her pipe.

The uproar was immediate, everyone expressing their disbelief at once.

“How do you expect us to survive being fired out of a cannon?”

Ishida practically screamed.

He collapsed when something large and heavy collided with his head. Natsu couldn’t contain her wince at the hollow sound the thing made before it bounced into Ichigo’s arms.

Her phone whipped up and her recording app started the moment Kukaku began explaining the function of the basketball-sized glass orb.

It was disappointing that the woman didn’t bother to explain its capabilities other than to tell them they had to focus energy into it to produce a barrier. That led to Ganju being used as a demonstration while she also explained why the cannon was the only option they now had to get past the walls of that protected Seireitei. He and Ichigo had a minor scuffle over the ownership of the bobble before Kukaku turned her burning gaze on Ichigo and he let go of his end of the tug-of-war abruptly.

“Watch this,” Ganju grunted proudly and the orb began to glow a soft golden toned blue. All at once a sphere snapped into existence around him.

Natsu knocked curiously on the barrier as Ganju began to pant and sweat after barely a minute. It buzzed like a live wire under her knuckles, but sent the curious phantom sensation of wet sand running down her wrist. No sound resulted from her curiosity.

Ganju glared at her and clutched the orb closer to his chest.

“Can I take a break?” he asked his sister, who replied with a snappish,

“Hold it.”

He moaned in despair, but kept up the effort.

“If this barrier takes so much out of him, how do you expect us beginners to manage it long enough to withstand being shot out of a cannon?”

Kukaku turned her sharp gaze to Natsu.

“All of you will be in the same bullet,” she waved her pipe vaguely, “The spirit ball has a multi-level crystal matrix that can harmonize several different energy wavelengths at one time.”

She stepped down from the raised platform that surrounded the black-metal Shiba Cannon.

“Regardless, no matter how much energy you put in, the barrier would peel the shell of any spirit made projectile open easy and you’d be nothing but dust on the wind.”

She tapped lightly on Ganju’s sphere with her pipe, making her brother grunt and ripples spread over its smooth surface. The ripple itself revealed some shifting code, like the waters of a still pond revealing shallow stones. Natsu couldn’t help tripping forward slightly at the sight, trying to read as much as she could before the ripples dissipated. She was fiercely grateful that she had her camera recorder on, saving the event for later analysis. Orihime caught her elbow and dragged her to her side; eyes wide and curious as she stared at Kukaku.

The Shiba Head’s turned to glare at Ichigo as he bridled and Ishida’s eyes widened.

“Then how do you expect—,”

A stream of smoke blown in his face cut off the bespectacled boy, sending him into a coughing fit.

“As I was saying,” she continued, “the crystal matrix not only allows multiple different types of spirit energy to meld and form, it also uses a multi-level system to create layers in the shell.”

She signaled Ganju to lower his barrier and walked to one of the boxes lining the room. From it she pulled a chalky, porous rock.

Her brother collapsed to the floor and panted in relief, face pale and red with exertion.

“Listen up, newbies, because I’m only going to explain this once.”

Yoruichi straightened, attentive and Natsu narrowed her eyes at the behavior. Kukaku offered the girl a wink and a mischievous grin.

“This is unrefined sekiseki,” she tossed the stone at Yasutora, who caught it one-handed.

He dropped it just as quickly, grimacing and flexing his hand as if burned.

“Despite what people might say, sekiseki doesn’t get its powers from the mineral it’s made of—which is a sub-formation of agate. The stone is fossilized Leviathan coral.”

Natsu’s ears perked up as she stepped closer to the dropped stone, gasping when she saw particles of metal rising and glowing around the chalky rock.

“Pretty,” Orihime whispered beside her.

Natsu nodded and snapped a picture. Her Spirit Analysis app was going absolutely _bonkers._

“The only place you can find this unique fossil is on the Dead Islands, right on the border of Soul Society and Hueco Mundo—,”

Ichigo snorted, interrupting their host.

“We don’t need a geology lesson, lady—will the barrier let us through or not?”

Yoruichi turned an enraged gaze on Ichigo, which he summarily ignored. Yasutora winced as the feline dug her claws into his shoulder to restrain herself from leaping at the Substitute.

Kukaku stared at him, surprised, before bursting into laughter.

Ganju relaxed from where he looked ready to leap out of the path between his sister and their guests.

“A man of action,” she crowed, “I like it!”

She moved in a barely seen ripple of fabric and snatched the stone from the floor, tossing it into the crate it came from in a backwards pass. Natsu and Orihime made disappointed sounds at losing their new fascination.

“Once you all master focusing your energy into the Spirit Bombs, then yes, you’ll be able to get through the barrier.”

Ichigo nodded, satisfied.

Then he hesitated.

“So, what do you mean by ‘focusing your energy into the Spirit Bomb’?”

Kukaku blinked.

“Y’know, like when you power a basic Kido,” blue light whirled into existence in her palm, forming a perfect sphere.

“Ichigo was never formally trained,” Yoruichi explained, “so he’ll need some guidance.”

Kukaku cast her gaze up and down the shinigami’s form; he scowled and bristled under the attention.

“My attendants will help you all get the hang of it,” she decided.

The two men saluted at her with military precision.

Yoruichi flicked her tail.

“If you’d like,” the cat tested, “I would love to hear more about sekiseki.”

Kukaku took a drag from her pipe and grinned at the cat.

“Moments passed,” she breathed out, wreathed in smoke and gestured gracefully for the former captain to take her leave.

Natsu tilted her head as she went through the door, escorted by the Shiba guards.

What was that all about?

Orihime twined their fingers together and Natsu’s phone pinged, distracting her with new information.

_I’ll figure it out later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take notes class, This Will Be On Your Test.


	9. Flirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE KUKAKU SHES MY FAVORITE AND I LOVE YORUICHI TOO! NATSU U NEED TO CHILL.

 

Natsuki lay curled in the curve of her Spirit Bomb shield watching her friends practice their reiatsu channeling under the watchful eyes of Koganehiko and Shiroganehiko. Artificial flowers bloomed at her feet as she tried to program a proper odor matrix into the illusion, as a result she almost felt like she was in a glass terrarium. Maybe she’d name the app Illusionist Alley—IA for short.

Her own Spirit tool floated above her, sucking in the slight energy she gave it. As a result, her barrier wasn’t that strong, but it was enough to keep her from falling through to the floor. Only she could see the shifting lines of code, the base writing of her reiatsu, rising from her skin in thin streams and being absorbed by the tool.

It was rather fascinating, how the crystal took in energy. Natsu was sure that if she studied it enough she could have a way to have it suck in environmental reishi instead of relying on a person’s individual reiatsu.

A vine curled possessively around her bicep and she frowned as the feeling came through, unnaturally smooth. With an irritated huff she swiped through the coding she was working on her phone and restarted.

A mini palm tree emerged under her spine, following the arc of the barrier, and she noted the sensation of the bark with satisfaction. One of the lilies at her feet released a cloud of scentless pollen and she frowned again.

“—won’t get a chance to eat again.”

Ganju was talking, but Natsu was barely listening. Yasutora came over and rapped on the side of her terrarium, a staccato series of clicks as the scales on his knuckles made contact.

“Natsu, time to eat,” he told her.

Natsu waved him off.

“I packed snacks, I’m fine.”

Orihime came over, a slight frown on her face as she peered at Ichigo’s back, the shinigami still sweating and failing to produce his own barrier. The guards had been summarily exiled when their enthusiastic nettling ended with Ichigo throwing his orb into one of their faces.

“Natsu-chan, come eat with us, you need more than ice-cream bars and beef jerky to survive.”

Natsu eyed them with supreme disdain.

“Says who?”

Ishida adjusted his glasses from where he was crouched by her barrier, peering at her garden with a fascinated look.

“Every study on health and nutrition—ever,” he informed her dryly.

Natsu sniffed, unconvinced and turned back to typing on her phone, only to yelp when Yoruichi swiped a casual claw at her, popping her barrier like a soap bubble. She scrambled to avoid getting brained in the head by her Spirit Bomb and sent her phone clattering away. It buzzed as her program registered an expansion of its area and blanketed the whole floor in a field of flowers. Natsu moaned at the sudden drain to her energy. Ganju screamed in dismay and hopped around like the harmless plants would burn him, while Ichigo slipped in surprise with an indignant yell. His orange hair disappeared into a cluster of similarly colored poppies and his tool went rolling over the floor. The sound of glass moving over hardwood was incongruous in the nature-blanketed scene her illusion had created.

Orihime giggled in delighted surprise and picked up a flower, tucking it behind her ear.

“No scent,” Yasutora muttered as he sniffed a daisy he plucked from a nearby stem.

Natsu sighed and slumped in a puff of multi-colored petals.

“It’s just a simulation, only people with reiryoku can interact with it.”

To demonstrate she bounced her Spirit Bomb across the floor, the object retrieved by Ishida: the glass orb passed through the flowers with nary a disturbance, ringing on the hardwood floor.

“Why the hell do you have something like this?” Ichigo asked, casually ambling up and tossing his Spirit Bomb in his hands like a basketball. His wrinkled brow betrayed his stress and annoyance though; no one was buying his act.

Natsu shrugged.

“I don’t know—aesthetic, maybe?”

Or the possibility that producing illusions near indistinguishable from reality as long as a spirit creature was touching them might help her avoid extreme energy depletion from using Object Creation too much.

Also, she could literally give people shoujo backgrounds anytime they acted too corny.

Either or—really.

Yoruichi scoffed quietly.

“Childish antics should take the back seat to practicing your Spirit Arts,” she rasped.

Natsu simply glared at her out of the corner her eye before ignoring the cat. Yoruichi bristled ever so slightly.

“So,” Orihime clapped, voice falsely bright, “how about we go eat?”

Ichigo squinted and looked away, clutching his orb.

“I’m fine.”

Orihime lost her smile, before brightening.

“I’ll stay too then, I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Her stomach chose that moment to roar, so perfectly timed Natsu had to admire the expression on her face. Orihime looked nearly pained by her body giving her away so easily.

“It’s fine Inoue,” Ichigo said before turning to walk away, “go eat, please.”

There it was, that heartbroken tilt of her lips and sympathetic pain lighting her eyes as Orihime clutched her hands to her chest. Natsu picked up her phone and dusted off her shorts, unwilling to witness the exchange.

_Idiots._

Suddenly, Orihime was smiling and bubbly, so obviously fake that it made Natsu’s lip curl.

“Have fun then Kurosaki-kun, let’s go eat,” she called, trying to tug Natsu along.

The girl pulled from her grip.

“I’m fine too Orihime-chan,” she said, looking the other girl in the eye, “I want to work out how to use this new app.”

For a second Orihime’s lips twisted, frustrated and Natsu crossed her arms, waiting.

Yasutora stepped back into the room from where he stood by the door, sensing the tension. Ishida looked between them all with wide eyes, obviously puzzled by the sudden shift.

Natsu couldn’t believe Orihime was being so foolish, not even a _day_ since they spoke about how stupid it was to let their friends drive themselves into the ground. Orihime glared and curled her hands into fists.

“I’m fine Maki—,” Ichigo tried to say.

Natsu turned a cold look on him.

“Was I talking to you?” she asked, icy.

She was making a point, one she wanted to drive home for Orihime especially. Pushing Yasutora was like moving a mountain and Orihime had her own brand of stubbornness, but it wasn’t as solid and stable as the boy’s. Yasutora’s idea of honor was too close to Ichigo’s and Ishida was just as foolish, Orihime knew better.

Orihime needed to learn how to plant herself in front of her friends and say ‘ _No,_ you _move_ ’. She couldn’t honestly believe that letting Ichigo work himself into the ground with no food or water would help his progress in learning how to control his reiatsu.

Logically, she knew that by the rule of anime protagonists he might pull something out of his ass. But this world has demonstrated time and again that this wasn’t a story.

“Don’t talk to Kurosaki-kun like that,” her friend snapped.

Orihime was tired, hungry, stressed; anyone would get a little annoyed under the circumstances. Natsu figured that it helped she was focused on her; the person Orihime knew wouldn’t flinch from this side of her.

Ichigo nearly swallowed his tongue at Orihime’s sudden shift into aggression, his jaw clicking shut on whatever he was going to say.

Ganju shuffled along the wall of the room, on his way to the door as he started to sweat. She guessed he had a rather healthy fear of angry women and she couldn’t blame him.

Natsu firmed her stance.

“He’s the one who interrupted, it’s not my fault he’s a nosy shit.” She needled watching intently as red roses bloomed on Orihime’s cheeks.

“Why do you have to be so hostile—you’re so quiet and then when you talk to Kurosaki-kun you can be so mean!”

Natsu placed a hand on her hip, sneering.

“That’s because I don’t like putting up with his heroic _bullshit_ —self-sacrifice was _never_ in fashion and watching him running around like his pain makes him _special_ gets on my damn _nerves._ ”

“Hey—,”

“That doesn’t make it okay to disregard his wishes!” Orihime nearly snarled, poking a finger into Natsu’s sternum, “It’s no reason to be cruel, whether he’s being foolish or not. If he wants to be a damn _idiot,_ and starve himself rather than spend thirty _fucking_ minutes to eat,” she took a deep breath, hard pokes emphasizing her next words, “ _That’s. His. Choice.”_

Then she noticed Natsu’s smug grin.

She covered her mouth with a squeak, turning to look at the boys, all in various stages of gaping at her.

Natsu laughed, wrapping her hands around her friend’s shoulders and blowing a stream of air on her red cheek.

“Oh my gosh,” she lisped exaggeratedly, “You said a bad word.”

Orihime slapped her arms away and bowed over her knees with a muffled,

_“I’m so sorry,_ ” said into her hands.

Ichigo, still looking a bit like he’d been slapped with a wet fish, stepped forward to crouch and place a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s—It’s—is that how you really feel?”

Orihime peeked at him from between her fingers, still brick red.

“Kurosaki-kun, everyone needs food, especially after a whole day without eating—you used to be an athlete, right?”

Ichigo scratched his neck, sheepish.

“Well—yeah.”

Some of the color left Orihime as she regained confidence, taking her hands from her face.

“So you _know,_ it’s easier to think and act after a good meal, rather than starving yourself.”

It was Ichigo’s turn to flush and look away as he muttered an affirmative.

Orihime’s cheer returned as her eyes glittered at his assent.

“So, really, you should come and eat with us and then you can come back here and train some more.”

Ichigo’s eyes flickered around the room, looking for escape.

Natsu winked when he caught her eye and she nearly lost it with laughter at the look of pure betrayal on his face when he realized he’d been played. Well, kind of—Natsu had been exaggerating, but her and Orihime’s outburst had been genuine. His self-sacrificing bullshit got old, _real quick._ The point of friends and family was to share your burdens and love, not try and take on the weight of the world and the pain of the lift alone.

Natsu tucked her hands behind her head after placing her phone into its holster.

“I could eat,” she admitted easily and ambled to the door where Ganju and the other boys stood.

Ichigo leapt to his feet and spluttered.

“You set that up Maki,” he accused and Orihime had a light-bulb moment at his words.

“Natsu-chan,” she said, realization dawning, “that was mean.”

Even as she said that, amusement shone in her eyes under the annoyance. Natsu smiled and stepped out the door.

Ichigo stomped after her as Ganju led the way, laughing at Ichigo’s sour mood.

They were led to a room resplendent with wall hangings, full of stylized kanji and layered on top of each other, some rolled and tucked into corners. A low table in the middle of the room was piled high with rice and meats, with a pot of miso soup steaming at the side. Kukaku looked up from the scroll in her lap and smiled at them all, sharp as a blade.

She sat in a pile of pillows a few feet from the low table, comfortable and somnolent as royalty.

Yoruichi leapt from Yasutora’s shoulder to greet her.

“Kukaku,” the cat rumbled, questioning.

The woman waved her hand before running her fingers over her pipe where it sat, displayed on a lacquered stand next to her knee.

“Everyone else is fed—what kind of host would I be if I didn’t eat with my guests?”

“Of course,” Yoruichi conceded, “we’re all honored.”

Now in front of food, Ichigo was apparently ravenous.

“Are those for us?” he interrupted, pointing at the stack of personal tables piled in the corner.

Natsu nodded eagerly, looking hopefully at their host.

The bomb-maker broke off her staring contest with Yoruichi. A failed attempt; no one could out-glare a cat.

“Oh—yeah, help yourselves. Ganju, help them out,” she ordered dismissively. She returned to looking at Yoruichi, starting up a low conversation.

Her brother rolled his eyes, but stomped on the floor. Natsu watched with interest as the writing and spells on the floor reacted to him, shifting like gears in a lock. A lacquered cabinet slid out of the floor next to the man’s foot, rising to shoulder height and opening into a set of tiered shelves. They all watched, wide-eyed, as the pieces folded out like blooms, revealing cutlery and bowls for eating.

“Holy shit,” Natsu whimpered, awed.

Ganju rubbed his nose, back straight and prideful.

“It’s not hard to impress a bunch of yokels,” he bragged.

Ichigo snorted.

“Easier to lose a fight, though.”

Ganju stepped forward, a vein throbbing in his temple.

“What’d you say punk?”

“I said—,”

Kukaku spoke.

“ _Boys.”_

They immediately quieted.

Meanwhile, Natsu’d already picked out a cute bowl and plate set made of red porcelain. She turned the bowl in her hand before she filled it with rice, admiring the gold rim.

The rest of her friends were close behind her, Yasutora grabbing the tables from the corner and helping set up while Ishida grabbed the knee pillows. Ichigo caught up with minimal grumbling as they said thanks for the meal after sitting down and digging in.

Ishida’s eyes were bright as he held his beautifully lacquered chopsticks in a delicate grip.

“This tableware is skillfully made,” he commented to Kukaku, “who made them?”

Ganju answered for his sister, his chopsticks rose to a lecturing point. Natsu snickered; a piece of rice was stuck on his chin.

“They’re Shiba-made,” he said, prideful, “each of them created by master Shiba craftsmen to be put in the keeping of the head of the clan.”

Ichigo looked up and swallowed a mouthful of rice.

“So, you guys are merchants? Are you the only ones in your family that do fireworks?”

Ganju’s lips pressed thin and his eyes drifted to his suddenly tight grip on his chopsticks.

Kukaku spoke.

“We’re the _only_ Shiba, period,” she said, her tone flat.

“O-oh,” Ichigo stuttered, looking winded.

Natsu winced and patted his shoulder; he grimaced and gave her a look that screamed ‘ _save me’._

“Not like you’d even know,” Ganju said bitterly, “everything here is leftover from before the accident—it all belonged to our cousins.”

Kukaku’s eyes tightened at the word ‘accident’, and Natsu felt bile rise in her throat. All the rooms with boxes, the shelves and knickknacks that were stacked in the random halls of the underground compound—there must have been at least a hundred family members at one time.

The way Kukaku looked told Natsu that ‘accident’ wasn’t the word she’d use to describe the death of their family.

“It was a great tragedy,” Yoruichi acknowledged.

Kukaku barked out a harsh laugh.

“Yeah, it sure _was.”_

The woman stood and banged on one of the walls, quickly shifting to hold up the wall hanging as the stone slid open. Inside the alcove were stacks of sake bottles. Natsu was starting to realize that this place might be the _actual_ dining room, stacks of weird wall hangings and all.

“You,” Kukaku snapped, making eye contact with Natsu, “grab one of these for me, would you?”

The girl rushed to obey, food forgotten.

Dishes for the alcohol were set on each of there tables and filled; Kukaku silenced all protests.

“A toast to the _late_ and _great_ Shiba Clan,” she nearly snarled.

Natsu gulped down her shot, because—really, how do you say no to a toast like that?

Ichigo and Ishida coughed and sputtered around the burn of the drink while Orihime smacked her lips thoughtfully.

“That tastes interesting,” she said.

Kukaku, already on her third shot, grunted.

Ganju hunched over his drink, glaring at Ichigo over the rim.

“Why do you want to save this shinigami so bad anyhow?”

Ichigo wiped his chin and glared right back.

“She saved my life—I’m not the kind of man that let someone die for me like that.”

It’s said with that unwavering conviction that characterized so many of Ichigo’s actions. A hypocritical claim, seeing as Ichigo threw himself into protecting everyone at the cost of himself. Natsu sighed and held her cup out for a second shot, getting an approving rumble from the Shiba Clan Head.

“Maki-san,” Ishida tried to admonish.

“I’m of age in Cuba,” she said a she let another shot burn down her throat. Even though she’d never technically been to the country in her lifetime.

Kukaku snorted, cheeks starting to flush.

“Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud, Four-eyes,” she poured Natsu another shot, “let the girl enjoy herself for the night.”

“Nee-chan, it’s barely past noon,” Ganju pointed out, dry as sand.

Kukaku grinned at him, ruffling his head covering and sending his hair into disarray. Ganju whined and squirmed away.

“It’s time to drink somewhere.”

Natsu cheered, feeling the pleasant flush of drunkenness take root in her limbs, even as Yoruichi started to hiss at her in reprimand.

She held out her dish for a refill.

“I’ll drink to that!”

They finished up their food and Orihime gave Natsu a hug before standing up. Natsu felt the tension leave her shoulders; she’d been afraid Orihime would be mad about her earlier manipulation.

Everyone filed out to the training room to watch Ichigo try and get the hang of his control after that. The head of the house exiled Yoruichi with her students, leaving her and Natsu alone. They ended up sprawled across from each other on Kukaku’s pillow throne, a bottle of sake between them.

They finished the first bottle quickly and they were halfway through the second when Kukaku finally spoke.

“What’s your problem with Yoruichi?”

Natsu furrowed her brows for a second, surprised by the sudden conversation before answering.

“She hides shit we need to know,” straight to the point.

Kukaku laughed.

“Yeah, you little shits have been putting your feet in your mouths since you got here. On the Body of the Soul King, the one shinigami you have can’t even use Demon Arts.”

Natsu gestured expansively, a bit of sake spilled on her shirt.

“ _Right,”_ she nearly shouted, “would you believe it if I told you she didn’t even tell us about the barrier before we got here? What the fuck did she expect Kurosaki to do? Sit still while she figured out our plan?”

Kukaku cackled.

“Shit, that’s classic Yoruichi,” Kukaku burped lightly, “I don’t think she knows how to _not_ be evasive.”

Natsu slammed her cup down on the side-table.

“She didn’t even lay out a proper fucking _landing strategy—_ she’s probably just going to tell us something vague like ‘stick together’ when we get shot out of your freaking cannon!”

Natsu throttled the air.

“I just want to strangle her,” she snarled.

Kukaku leaned back and hummed.

“I wish I could do that,” she said wistfully, bitter, “I wish I could cut her down for having my family’s name in her mouth.”

Natsu paused, alcohol halfway to her lips.

“What?”

Kukaku pulled her head covering off, letting her uneven, singed bangs fall into her face.

“Your leader—mentor, whatever, she used to be a shinigami captain.”

The words ‘ _I know’_ caught in Natsu’s throat. She wasn’t drunk enough to give something like that away.

“Not just that,” the woman slurred, “she’s the heiress of the Shihōin, commanders of the Onmitsukidō.”

She laughed bitterly.

“If you got something dirty you need swept under the rug they’re the ones that come in to clean up and—and the Shiba Clan was one big coal spot.”

Natsu nearly fell down.

“What? _Your_ family?”

Natsu gestured to the wall hangings and plates on the table behind them, trying to encompass the concept of why craftsmen were considered a coal spot.

“You don’t know the history, but the Shiba were spellcrafters—we’re the ones that built the walls of Seireitei, we’re one of the Great Noble Clans,” she laughed, tone dark, “we have so many secrets—such knowledge that the government feared our very existence.”

“Wait—wait, your family built the walls?”

Kukaku waved a casual hand.

“Oh yeah, we built the prison too—we’re the only ones that know how to retrieve and refine sekiseki.”

Natsu slumped.

“ _Holy shit.”_

Kukaku grinned.

“Yeah—but we weren’t into all that noble bullshit, we married who we wanted, whenever we wanted. From what I understand, my mom had some radical ideas about overhauling the Rukongai.”

Kukaku held out her cup and Natsu refilled it. The stream of liquid glittered under the steady light of the room.

“Central 46—that’s the government, demanded our clan secrets ‘cause they thought we weren’t acting in the interest of the Noble Houses and the balance of the afterworld. That was code for them thinking we had too much common blood in our House.”

Kukaku’s throat moved in a long swallow, her cup kissing her lips.

“Mom refused them ‘course,” she slurred, “we got slapped with treason and they sent the Onmitsukidō in to sweep us under the rug.”

“Oh—oh no.”

Kukaku’s eyes were dry and bloodshot, her grin vicious.

“We Shiba—we didn’t traditionally become shinigami, but we were a tough lot. Mor’n a hundred of us lived in the compound—we weren’t really a match for the assassin’s trained to take down rowdy shinigami.”

Kukaku bowed her head.

“Pregnant women—children, everyone was killed, except me and my brothers.”

She drank another shot of alcohol.

“We hid under the floorboards and we had to watch as Yoruichi Shihōin cut down our mother and father—their blood dripped on us from above. Then she found us,” Kukaku snarled, “and she _lost her fucking nerve.”_

Natsu took a long pull from the bottle of sake.

“Fucking shit,” she offered, not really sure of what else to say.

Kukaku nodded emphatically.

“So, I fucking hate her—but she also spared my brothers and I, so I owe her.”

Natsu reached forward.

“Can I hug you, Kukaku-san? I really want to hug you right now,” she babbled.

Kukaku threw her arms wide and Natsu tackled her into the pillows. The woman reached and pulled Natsu’s hair from her bun, cooing over the length.

Natsu dug her chin into the woman’s sternum and looked at her through her lashes.

“Why are you telling me all this Kukaku-san?”

A grin sliced across the woman’s face.

“Sharp one.” she breathed, sounding satisfied, “I have a job I need done for me in the Seireitei and I think you’re the one I need to do it, little illusionist.”

Natsu startled.

“You have cameras?” she accused.

Kukaku gave her a smug look, hand still playing with Natsu’s hair.

“I know everything that happens in this house—and I need you to keep this our little secret.”

Natsu took a moment to think. Even if she was tipsy, she went through the possibilities. Kukaku had straight up admitted to having secrets even the Seireitei didn’t know; what if one of those secrets could help Natsu figure out her own situation? The girl had known that Yoruichi had a checkered past and that the shinigami government weren’t exactly clean either, but she never imagined something like the extermination of the Shiba. It didn’t endear her to the cat, knowing that she could do something like that.

Wait.

How did Ichigo even exist? Wasn’t Isshin a Shiba? How’d he—never mind. Natsu shook the thought free of her head.

Natsu weighed her decision, even if she knew what she'd say when the woman first asked her the question. She smiled, wide and hungry, meeting Kukaku’s gaze.

“What do you need?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natsu has the biggest crush on Kukaku and will wake up later realizing that she had an entire discussion about a favor while nuzzling this woman's breasts and having her hair played with. She'll explode into a puddle of weak-kneed hormones in the aftermath.

**Author's Note:**

> Are Natsu's parents international criminals? Yes.  
> Does she have the capacity to give a fuck after dying and being reincarnated into a manga world? Nope.  
> Natsu is a lot more violent then she thinks, she just sees her own avoidance of it and her naturally quiet disposition as nonviolent.  
> It barely took her a week to get over the fact that her parents were criminals, just cuz they were her parents.  
> She lies to herself, frequently.


End file.
